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THE  LIFE-STORY 
OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 


MARIE    SL'KLOl 


THE  LIFE-STORY 
OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 


THE  REMARKABLE  EXPERIENCE 
OF  A  YOUNG  GIRL:  BEING  AN  AC- 
COUNT OF  HER  PEASANT  CHILD- 
HOOD, HER  GIRLHOOD  IN  PRISON, 
HER  EXILE  TO  SIBERIA,  AND 
ESCAPE    FROM    THERE 

BY 

MARIE  SUKLOFF 

TRANSLATED  BY 

GREGORY  YARROS 

ILLUSTRATED  FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1914. 


Copyright,  1914,  by 
The  Century  Co. 


Published,  October,  1914 


S:?4t 


To 

MY  COMRADES 

who  are  still  languishing  within  the 

dreary  walls  of  Akatui 


10 


>- 

LU 

OS. 
LU 
CO 


ft 


o 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Marie  Sukloff Frontispiece 

Miss  Suklofif's  Birthplace 6 

The  Village  of  Borovoi-Mlin  as  it  looks  now  ....     15 

Peter  Lavrovich  Lavroff 40 

Lieutenant  Peter  Petrovich  Shmidt 53 

Guarding  the  road  to  the  Akatlii  prison 74 

Six  political  prisoners  and  their  guards  resting  at  the 
etape  in  their  march  to  Akatlii 91 

Miss  Sukloff  reading  in  her  cell 98 

The  entrance  to  the  Akattii  prison 107 

Ivan  Kalyaev 134 

The  prison  wall  from  the  outside 143 

A  group  of  political  women  prisoners  in  the  yard  of 
the  Akatdi  prison 154 

Another    gi'oup    of    political    prisoners    in    the    Akatfii 
stronghold         163 

Marie  Spiridonova 186 

Peter  Karpovitch 203 

General  view  of  the  Maltzev  hard-lahor  prison  .     .     .  222 

The  prison  yard  and  gate 239 


THE  LIFE-STORY 
OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 


THE  LIFE-STORY 
OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 


THE  little  village  of  Borovoi-Mlin,  in  which 
I  was  born,  consisted  of  about  thirty  huts 
—  low  wooden  structures  with  slant  thatched 
roofs.  The  walls,  both  inside  and  out,  were 
plastered  with  mud  and  whitewashed.  All  the 
huts  stood  in  a  row  which  formed  the  only 
street  in  the  village.  A  wide  dusty  road  passed 
in  front  —  the  meeting  place  of  the  cackling, 
quacking,  and  barking  members  of  the  com- 
munity. Farther  down,  the  communal  pasture, 
a  long  and  narrow  strip  of  land,  ran  along  the 
high  bank  of  the  rivulet  Okena  below.  In  the 
rear  were  small  kitchen-gardens  surrounded  by 
low  wattle  fences,  back  of  which  rye  fields 
stretched  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see. 

3 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Our  hut  stood  at  the  very  entrance  to  the 
village.  It  was  old  and  rickety.  The  two  little 
windows  were  low,  near  the  ground.  In  the 
severe  winter  months  the  snow  piled  up  high  in 
front  of  them,  shutting  out  the  feeble  light  that 
penetrated  the  double  windows.  During  the 
greater  part  of  the  year  the  broken  panes  were 
replaced  with  cardboard,  as  a  protection  against 
the  clouds  of  dust  which  drifted  into  the  house 
every  time  a  vehicle  passed.  The  thatch  on  the 
roof  was  black  with  age.  It  was  broken  in  sev- 
eral places.  When  the  rains  were  heavy  the 
water  leaked  through  and  formed  a  puddle  on 
the  mud  floor. 

As  in  all  peasant  dwellings,  a  dark  passage 
divided  it  into  two  parts.  One  was  the  living- 
room,  the  other  served  as  a  barn  where  the 
horses,  cows,  agricultural  implements,  and  pro- 
visions were  kept.  The  living-room  was  large 
and  square.  One  corner  was  screened  off  by  a 
long,  red  curtain.  It  was  the  parents'  bedroom. 
Two  beds  and  a  cradle  stood  there.  The  furni- 
ture of  the  rest  of  the  room  consisted  of  a  large 
table  and  benches  along  the  walls.  Another 
table,  much  smaller  in  size,  held  a  large  brass 
samovar  and  a  pair  of  silver  candlesticks,  the 
only  articles  of  value  in  our  home.    An  enor- 

4 


MISS   SUKLOFF  S   BIRTHPLACE 

In  this  house  Miss  Suklofif  passed  the  first  fourteen 

years  of  her  life 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OP  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

mous  brick  stove  occupied  a  conspicuous  place 
in  the  room.  Besides  doing  its  regular  service, 
it  provided  a  warm  bed  in  the  cold  winter 
nights.  The  children  often  fought  for  the 
privilege  of  sleeping  on  it.  In  this  room  I  first 
saw  the  light  of  day  in  September,  1885.  In 
this  house  I  passed  the  first  fourteen  years  of 
my  life. 

Sixteen  dessiatines  (a  little  over  forty-three 
acres)  of  poor  soil,  mostly  clay,  and  a  thatch- 
covered  hut  —  this  was  all  the  property  left  by 
my  grandfather  to  his  five  sons  and  two  daugh- 
ters.^ I  do  not  know  how  the  heirs  to  this  rich 
inheritance  settled  it  among  themselves;  but  in 
the  end  my  father  and  one  of  my  uncles  re- 
mained the  sole  proprietors  of  the  sixteen  des- 
siatines, they  being  the  eldest  sons  and  already 
married.  At  the  later  division  of  the  property 
eight  dessiatines  and  the  house  went  to  my 
father. 

Our  estate,  besides  the  land,  consisted  most 

1  My  grandfather  settled  in  Borovoi-Mlin,  in  the  province  of 
Vilna,  in  1851.  The  Government  granted  certain  privileges 
to  Jewish  agricultural  colonists,  exemption  from  military 
service  for  a  pei'iod  of  twenty-five  years  being  one  of  them. 
Military  service  in  Russia  at  that  time  lasted  twenty-flve 
years,  and  the  life  of  a  soldier  was  terribly  hard.  Few  ever 
returned  to  their  native  places.  To  save  his  sous  from  mili- 
tary duty,  my  grandfather  decided  to  become  a  peasant 

7 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

of  the  time  of  a  couple  of  cows,  one  or  two 
horses,  and  a  dozen  or  more  chickens.  When 
the  crops  were  good,  the  eight  dessiatines 
yielded  grain  and  i)otatoes  enough  to  last  the 
whole  year  round.  But  either  because  of  my 
father's  primitive  methods  of  agriculture,  or  be- 
cause of  insufficient  fertilizing,  or  because  of 
droughts  w^hich  are  not  infrequent  in  our  parts, 
good  crops  were  rather  the  exception  than  the 
rule.  I  remember  a  prayer  which  I  learned 
when  I  was  four  years  old :  "  O  God,  give  us 
rain  for  the  sake  of  the  little  children."  Every 
morning  before  eating  our  modest  breakfast, 
we  folded  our  hands  and  repeated  this  prayer. 
But  God  seemed  cruel  at  times.  Severe 
droughts  burned  our  fields,  and  famine  threat- 
ened the  w^hole  district.  Then  father  drove  our 
favorite  cow  to  the  nearest  town  and  sold  her. 
The  same  fate  befell  the  second  one,  and  then  we 
w^ere  without  milk. 

But  the  cost  of  necessities  was  so  high  that 
money  thus  realized  was  not  enough.  Then 
father  went  to  look  for  work,  and  stayed  away 
from  home  the  whole  week.  Friday  evening  the 
family  eagerly  awaited  his  retura.  The  room 
assumed  its  holiday  appearance;  the  table  was 
covered  with  a  snow-white  cloth,  the  candles  lit, 

8 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  EUSSIAN  EXILE 

and  the  samovar,  freshly  polished,  shone  in  the 
corner.  But  father  took  his  place  without  say- 
ing a  worH;  his  face  did  not  wear  his  usual 
cheerful  smile  and  we  understood  that  he  had 
not  earned  anything  and  Avas  therefore  sad. 
Silently  we  took  our  seats  around  the  table, 
while  mother  served  the  supper.  But  unlike 
any  other  Saturday  there  was  no  meat.  .  .  . 

Indeed  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  earn 
some  extra  money  to  meet  the  modest  expenses 
of  our  household.  The  few  acres  of  land  owned 
by  a  Russian  peasant  do  not  yield  enough  to 
feed  a  large  family  and  pay  the  taxes.  Our 
village  was  situated  about  a  mile  from  the  little 
town  of  Smorgon,  where  there  were  leather  fac- 
tories, tailor  shops,  and  other  enterprises. 
Among  us  a  child  of  eight  years  Avas  considered 
of  w^orking  age  and  sent  to  work  in  town.  He 
was  apprenticed  to  a  tailor  or  a  shoemak:er, 
and  sometimes  even  sent  to  the  factoi'y.  Few 
could  afford  to  send  their  children  to  school. 
The  parochial  school,  which  was  to  spread 
knowledge  among  the  inhabitants  of  four  vil- 
lages, could  boast  of  but  ten  pupils.  These 
were  taught  by  the  village  priest,  who  was  but 
little  versed  in  educational  matters.  Besides, 
he  was  busy  with  other,  more  important  duties, 

9 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

and  could  not  devote  much  of  his  time  to  in- 
structing the  young.  At  the  end  of  a  four 
years'  course,  therefore,  they  could  neither  read 
nor  write.  But  that  was  amply  compensated 
by  their  ability  to  chant  psalms,  which  they 
knew  by  heart.  Our  village  boys  went  to  a 
Hebrew  school,  beginning  at  the  age  of  four  or 
five.  My  brother  Wolf  "  finished "  his  edu- 
cation when  he  was  eight  years  old.  Girls  were 
not  taught  at  all.  I  was  illiterate  until  the  age 
of  thirteen.     But  more  of  this  later. 

The  peasants  in  the  neighboring  country  lived 
in  still  greater  poverty  than  ours.  Their  grown 
sons  and  daughters  did  not  go  to  live  in  town, 
but  remained  -vvdth  the  family ;  nor  did  they  send 
their  children  to  the  shop;  and  their  small  par- 
cels of  land,  which  were  taxed  very  heavily, 
could  not  feed  so  many  "  souls."  Close  to  their 
land  was  a  large  private  estate.  It  covered 
many  hundreds  of  dessiatines,  most  of  which 
was  uncultivated.  The  peasants  were  thus  de- 
prived of  a  chance  to  earn  even  a  little  money  as 
farm  hands. 

One  circumstance,  I  remember,  greatly  puz- 
zled me,  notwithstanding  that  I  was  very  young 
at  the  time.  The  grazing  land  of  our  village 
was  small,  and  the  herd  often  returned  home 

10 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

hungry.  Bordering  on  ours  was  an  immense 
pasture  belonging  to  a  priest  who  had  long  left 
the  church  and  did  not  even  live  on  his  estate. 
The  meadow  was  always  guarded  by  a  man  who 
lived  literally  at  our  expense.  He  collected 
from  us  a  ruble  for  every  horse  or  cow  which 
strayed  over  on  his  land.  If  the  money  was  not 
paid,  he  locked  the  beast  in  his  barn  and  left 
it  mthout  food.  Once  it  happened  that  he 
starved  to  death  one  of  our  herd.  When  winter 
came  the  fine  grass  in  the  priest's  meadow  was 
covered  with  snow,  while  our  barns  were  empty. 
A  dense  forest  surrounded  the  villages,  but 
we  did  not  have  enough  firewood  to  heat  our 
huts.  The  forest  belonged  to  the  Government. 
The  peasants  had  to  choose  between  freezing 
and  stealing  wood  from  the  forest.  As  a  result, 
the  jail  in  the  near-by  town  was  always  full. 
Some  stayed  there  as  long  as  two  years  —  all 
for  attempting  to  steal  a  log  with  which  to 
warm  their  cold  huts. 

When  I  was  six  years  old  a  terrible  misfor- 
tune befell  our  family.  My  mother  fell  down 
from  the  garret  and  fractured  her  skull.  She 
was  ill  for  almost  a  year.  For  four  months  she 
lay  in  a  semi-conscious  condition.     She  did  not 

11 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

recognize  anybody,  and  drove  us  away  when  we 
came  to  her  bed.  I  don't  know  what  would 
have  become  of  us  if  it  had  not  been  for  our 
sister  Eevecca.  She  looked  after  us  like  a 
mother,  and  saw  that  we  were  fed  and  clothed. 
She  was  eleven  then. 

Mother's  illness  ruined  us  completely.  She 
was  the  only  one  in  the  family  who  knew  how  to 
manage  things,  to  make  ends  meet,  as  they  say. 
Father  lacked  that  ability.  Besides,  her  illness 
added  a  large  item  to  our  expense.  To  meet  the 
doctor's  and  druggist's  bills,  the  cows  and 
horses  had  to  be  sold.  Even  the  land  was  mort- 
gaged. 

It  was  summer,  and  father  worked  in  the  field. 
Eevecca  and  I  kept  house  and  looked  after  the 
one-year-old  baby.  We  got  up  at  daybreak  and 
worked  hard  the  whole  day.  Eevecca  milked 
the  cows  (they  were  sold  only  towards  mnter), 
and  I  drove  them  to  the  pasture.  I  remember 
with  what  a  serious  face  I  answered  my  com- 
panions when  they  asked  me  to  play  ^T.th  them : 

"  I  have  no  time  to  play.  My  mamma  is 
sick." 

One  incident  during  my  mother's  illness  left 
an  impression  on  my  memory  that  remains  to 
this  day.     It  was  the  haying  season.     Father 

12 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  EUSSIAN  EXILE 

was  in  the  field,  mother  was  lying  in  bed,  and 
Reveeca  and  I  were  sitting  on  the  doorstep,  rest- 
ing after  our  hard  morning.  A  large  wagon 
drawn  by  two  horses  suddenly  came  into  view. 
We  recognized  it  immediately,  and  knew  that 
the  tax  collector  was  coming.  He  had  a  wooden 
leg  and  a  long  black  beard,  and  was  the  terror 
of  all  the  children.  The  periodical  appearance 
at  our  village  of  this  tax  collector  who  was 
nicknamed  "  the  one-legged  devil,"  was  always 
a  source  of  much  unhappiness.  He  stopped  in 
front  of  our  house.  We  were  terribly  afraid  of 
him,  and  at  any  other  time  would  have  run 
away  and  hid  in  the  barn,  but  that  happy  period 
of  our  life  was  past.  We  felt  a  great  responsi- 
bility' resting  upon  us,  so  we  remained.  We 
stood  up,  and  met  the  intruder  bravely. 
"  There  is  nobody  home,"  said  Kevecca,  when 
the  collector  approached.  But  he  paid  no  at- 
tention to  her,  and  went  straight  into  the  house, 
making  an  awful  noise  with  his  w^ooden  leg  all 
the  while.  We  followed  him.  Having  ex- 
amined the  contents  of  the  room,  he  stopped  be- 
fore the  table  on  which  the  samovar  and  the 
candlesticks  stood.  We  watched  his  move- 
ments with  breathless  intensity.  Suddenly  he 
knocked  on  the  window  with  his  cane.     A  young 

13 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

man  came  in,  carrying  a  large  bag.  Before  we 
could  grasp  the  meaning  of  it  all,  our  samovar, 
the  pride  and  ornament  of  our  house,  had 
disappeared  into  his  dirty  bag.  Next  went 
the  candlesticks.  We  were  dumfounded.  We 
stood  gazing  at  the  bag,  and  could  not  utter  a 
word.  Unable  to  move,  we  saw  them  turn  to 
the  door  and  walk  out  of  the  room.  When  we 
recovered  from  the  shock,  the  rattle  of  the  pass- 
ing wagon  was  heard  near  the  house.  Revecca 
sat  down  near  the  empty  table  and  began  to  cry. 
After  a  few  minutes  I  joined  her.  Without  a 
samovar  and  the  candlesticks  the  room  looked 
gloomier  than  ever. 

In  the  fall  father  called  a  doctor  from  Vilna, 
a  large  city  sixty  miles  away  from  the  village. 
His  visit  cost  us  fifty  rubles.  This  doctor,  how- 
ever, really  helped  our  mother,  who  began  to 
recover  slowly. 

When  my  mother  recovered  from  her  illness, 
Revecca  was  sent  to  work  in  a  tailor's  shop  in 
town,  and  I  became  the  chief  help  in  the  house. 
In  the  long  winter  nights  I  plucked  feathers  for 
pillows  which  were  to  form  a  part  of  Revecca's 
dowry ;  she  was  then  in  her  thirteenth  year. 

Thus  two  years  passed.  Our  poverty  at  that 
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THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

time  was  indescribable.  All  tbe  earnings  went 
to  pay  debts  and  the  interest  on  the  mortgage. 
To  earn  a  little  money,  mother  decided  to  sell 
vegetables  at  the  town  market.  Every  morning 
she  went  to  town  and  returned  home  in  the 
evening.  I  took  charge  of  the  house  and  looked 
after  the  eleven-months-old  baby-boy. 

One  event  which  set  me  thinking  about  condi- 
tions in  general  was  the  death  of  my  aunt,  a 
young  married  woman  of  thirty-four.  It  was 
harvest  time,  and  my  aunt  went  to  a  near-by  vil- 
lage to  hire  some  farm  hands.  She  started  out 
before  sunset.  Hours  passed,  it  grew  late,  and 
she  did  not  return.  About  midnight  the  horse 
came  back  with  an  empty  wagon.  We  raised  an 
alarm,  went  to  the  village,  but  the  peasants 
there  who  all  knew  my  aunt  well,  maintained 
that  she  had  not  been  to  their  village  that  day. 
At  last,  after  a  whole  night's  search,  she  was 
found  buried,  yet  still  alive,  in  a  pit  near  the 
road.  Her  face  was  unrecognizable.  Her 
whole  body  was  bruised  and  bore  traces  of  vio- 
lence. The  police  arrived  and  began  an  investi- 
gation. Our  yard  was  crowded  with  peasants, 
young  and  old,  from  the  neighboring  villages. 
Each  one  of  them  was  led  to  the  bed  on  which 
my  aunt  lay  with  an  unspeakable  expression  on 

17 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

her  mutilated  face.  She  could  not  speak,  but 
her  eyes  were  full  of  suffering  and  mute  re- 
proach. Each  time  a  peasant  approached  the 
bed  she  shook  her  head  gravely.  The  ordeal 
lasted  two  days.  All  that  time  my  aunt  tried 
to  say  something,  but  all  of  our  efforts  to  under- 
stand her  were  futile.  The  police  lost  all  idea 
of  discovering  the  author  of  the  horrible  crime. 
My  aunt  was  sinking  fast,  and  the  doctor  could 
not  hold  out  any  hope.  Suddenly  she  clearly 
uttered  the  word  hartchuk  ^  and  died.  Bart- 
chuk !  The  peasants  passed  the  word  along,  and 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross.  They  knew  who 
committed  the  crime. 

A  short  distance  from  the  village  where  my 
aunt  had  gone  was  a  landowner's  estate.  The 
proprietor  had  a  son  who  spent  his  summers  in 
the  country.  He  was  the  curse  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. The  peasants  hid  their  daughters  when- 
ever he  appeared  in  the  village,  but  he  managed 
to  insult  them  with  impunity.  He  it  was  whom 
my  aunt  named  as  her  assailant.  He  was  ar- 
rested. All  the  peasants  testified  against  him. 
And  yet  after  three  months  he  was  freed.  The 
landowner  had  bribed  the  investigating  magis- 
trate, and  the  affair  was  hushed  up. 

2  Young  gentleman. 

18 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

As  I  have  said  before,  I  was  not  sent  to  scliool. 
When  I  reached  my  eleventh  year,  my  mother 
found  a  place  for  me  in  a  grocery  store  in  town. 
The  store  was  so  small  that  if  two  customers 
happened  in  at  the  same  time  one  had  to  wait 
outside,  where  the  greatest  part  of  the  goods 
was  laid  out.  I  performed  a  great  many  duties. 
I  carried  the  goods  in  and  out,  swept  the  store, 
delivered  purchases,  and  ran  similar  errands. 
My  salary  was  fifteen  rubles  for  the  winter. 
There  I  made  my  first  acquaintance  with  figures 
and  learned  addition  and  subtraction.  My 
position  as  a  clerk  required  some  little  knowl- 
edge of  arithmetic.  At  first  my  mistress  taught 
me.  After  this  my  brother  Wolf  instructed 
me  in  this  science,  which  was  one  of  his  strong 
points. 

But  months  passed,  and  I  did  not  show  any 
promise  of  becoming  an  efficient  grocery  clerk. 
My  mistress  was  vei*y  much  dissatisfied  with  me. 
She  often  reproached  me  for  my  inability  to 
meet  customers  in  the  approved  fashion,  and 
called  me  a  "rustic."  I  did  not  know  what 
was  wanted  of  me,  and  that  worried  me  terribly. 
But  I  took  great  pride  in  the  fact  that  I  was  a 
clerk  and  earning  money. 

Every  evening  I  went  home  to  sleep.     There 
19 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

was  a  tavern  in  town  where  the  workmen  from 
our  village  gathered,  usually  at  about  nine 
o'clock.  I  always  found  there  company  to  go 
home  with.  One  evening  my  mistress  kept  me 
very  late.  When  I  came  to  the  tavern,  all  my 
village  folk  had  gone.  I  thought  for  a  while, 
and  decided  to  go  home  alone.  It  was  in  De- 
cember. The  night  was  still  and  cold,  and  the 
fields  were  covered  with  dazzling-white  snow. 
The  road  to  our  village  shone  like  silver.  I 
stepped  into  the  road,  and  ran.  I  did  not  stop 
until  I  came  to  our  house,  although  I  was  not  a 
bit  afraid.  After  that  I  always  walked  home 
alone,  without  even  so  much  as  looking  into  the 
tavern. 

Before  the  Easter  holiday  my  mistress  dis- 
charged me.  She  had  found  another  girl,  who 
could  approach  customers  in  the  right  way.  It 
was  a  terrible  disappointment  to  me,  but  my 
mother  tried  to  console  me.  "  Don't  worry.  I 
shall  apprentice  you  to  a  tailor  next  fall,  like 
Revecca.     That 's  settled,"  she  concluded. 

The  summer  passed.  When  it  began  to  grow 
cold  my  mother  took  me  to  town,  and  I  entered 
upon  my  new  career  as  a  tailor's  apprentice. 
The  shop  had  no  particular  attraction  for  me. 
I  was  used  to  the  free,  pure  air  of  the  fields. 

20 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  EUSSIAN  EXILE 

The  severest  frosts  and  storms  could  not  keep 
us  children  in  the  house.  We  never  took  cold, 
although  not  dressed  according  to  the  season. 
And  here  I  had  to  sit  the  whole  day  in  a  close, 
ill-smelling  room.  At  times  my  duties  kept  me 
there  till  midnight.  My  master  did  not  even 
think  of  teaching  me  to  sew.  Most  of  the  time 
I  was  busy  with  his  two  little  children,  whom 
the  mistress  always  left  in  my  care. 

I  was  apprenticed  for  two  years.  It  was 
agreed  that  I  was  to  be  allowed  to  go  home  for 
the  field-work  season.  The  understanding  was 
that  I  should  work  one  year  without  pay,  and 
get  twenty-five  rubles  for  the  second  year.  But 
fate  played  me  one  of  her  tricks.  Toward  the 
end  of  the  second  year,  when  I  constantly 
thought  of  and  counted  the  money  I  was  to  get, 
unexpected  events  occurred,  and  I  never  saw  my 
hard-earned  twenty-five  rubles. 

In  the  spring  of  1898  the  workmen  of  Vilna 
were  striking  for  a  ten-hour  work-day.  The 
"  Bund,"  a  secret  organization  of  working-men 
which  was  formed  shortly  before,  conducted  the 
strike.  It  published  an  "  illegal "  pamphlet, 
entitled  "  Eight-hour  Day "  and  distributed  it 
in  all  the  cities  and  towns  round  about.     One 

21 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

of  these  pamphlets  found  its  way  into  our 
shop. 

The  workmen  at  our  shop  discussed  it  in  un- 
dertones. A  secret  meeting  of  several  shops 
took  place,  where  it  was  decided  to  declare  a 
strike  before  Easter,  demanding  a  ten-hour  day. 
I  was  not  taken  into  the  secret,  either  because  I 
was  too  young,  or  because  they  did  not  consider 
me  a  real  shop  worker,  as  I  passed  the  summers 
in  the  village.  But  I  succeeded,  without  much 
difficulty,  in  finding  out  all  their  schemes. 
With  extreme  impatience  I  waited  for  the  strike. 
Returning  home  after  work,  I  related  to  my  girl- 
friends all  the  great  things  that  were  expected 
in  town.  At  last  the  appointed  day  arrived, 
and  the  working-men  of  Smorgon  struck.  I, 
too,  refused  to  work,  much  to  the  surprise  of  our 
shop  people. 

The  strike  lasted  only  several  hours.  The 
employers  msely  decided  to  yield,  as  it  was  a 
week  before  Easter,  the  busiest  season  of  the 
year.  They  conceded  all  the  workers'  demands. 
But  after  Easter  they  were  all  discharged,  and 
had  to  return  to  work  on  the  old  terms.  I, 
however,  was  not  taken  back.  This  circum- 
stance created  quite  an  impression  among  the 
working-men,  who  regarded  me  as  a  sufferer. 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

When  I  think  of  it  now  and  to  what  it  subse- 
quently led,  I  am  deeply  grateful  to  fate,  al- 
though it  is  true  that,  from  that  time,  I  became 
a  source  of  worry  and  torture  to  our  family. 
My  brothers  and  sisters  were  married,  had  chil- 
dren, and  were  happy  in  their  own  way,  while  I 
spent  my  young  years  in  Russian  and  Siberian 
prisons."    But  to  return  to  Smorgon. 

The  working-men,  disappointed  at  the  unsuc- 
cessful strike,  began  to  look  for  new  means  of 
reducing  the  hours  of  labor.  They  organized 
secret  educational  circles,  where  they  read  about 
the  lives  of  working-men  in  foreign  countries 
and  their  struggles  for  rights  and  liberty.  I 
was  admitted  to  one  of  these  circles. 

One  day  the  daughter  of  the  rabbi  from  Smor- 
gon called  at  our  house.  The  rabbi,  it  must  be 
explained,  was  considered  a  rich  man  and  of 
aristocratic  lineage.  His  children  received 
their  education  in  Vilna,  and  were  known  in 
the  village  as  "  free-thinkers."  Naturally,  the 
daughter's  visit  to  our  humble  dwelling  aroused 
the  curiosity  of  our  village  inhabitants ;  the  win- 
dows of  our  house  were  immediately  beleaguered 
by  a  crowd  of  inquisitive  folk;  the  neighbors 
suddenly  missed  various  kitchen  utensils  and 
came  to  us  to  borrow,  stopping  for  a  while  to 

23 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

have  a  good  look  at  the  rabbi's  daughter  whose 
hair  was  short  and  who  wore  pince-nez.  Her 
name  was  Hannah.  When  the  neighbors  were 
busy  discussing  her  appearance,  she  whispered 
to  me: 

"  Come  to  our  house  next  Saturday  after  din- 
ner.    Don't  tell  anybody  about  it." 

Impatiently  I  waited  for  Saturday  to  come. 
"  What  will  I  see  there? "  I  kept  asking  my- 
self, and  my  imagination  drew  fantastic  pic- 
tures, one  more  beautiful  than  the  other.  At 
last  the  much-desired  day  arrived.  With  my 
shoes  thrown  over  my  shoulder,  I  set  out  at  a 
rapid  pace.  When  I  neared  the  town,  I  put  on 
my  shoes,  without  stockings,  and  continued  at  a 
slower  gait.  To  my  great  shame  I  must  confess 
that  when  I  approached  the  rabbi's  massive 
dwelling,  my  heart  began  to  beat  violently  and 
my  courage  left  me.  And  the  pictures  in  which 
I  saw  myself  as  the  heroine  of  the  day  vanished. 
My  friend  Hannah,  who  must  have  been  waiting 
for  me,  saw  me  through  the  window.  She  came 
out  and  conducted  me  into  a  poorly-lighted 
room,  where  several  girls  were  already  as- 
sembled. The  mndow  blinds  were  lowered  and 
the  door  locked.     The  room  became  still  darker. 

"  Sisters,"  began  Hannah,  "  the  first  thing  you 
24 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

must  know  is  that  you  must  not  tell  anj'body 
what  is  going  on  here." 

All  were  silent.  Hannah  took  out  a  thin 
pamphlet  and  began  to  read :  "  Once  upon  a 
time  there  lived  four  brothers.  .  .  ."  This  i/ 
pamphlet,  entitled  "Four  Brothers,"  is  a  for- 
bidden publication.  It  tells  the  stoiy  of  four 
brothers  who  were  born  and  lived  in  a  forest. 
They  decide  to  travel,  and  start  out  in  different 
directions.  When  they  return,  they  recount  the 
many  acts  of  cruelty  they  have  seen  and  met 
with  in  the  world,  and  discuss  measures  to  bring 
about  justice  and  equality. 

After  the  reading  we  went  away,  having  ar- 
ranged to  meet  the  following  Saturday.  These 
Saturday  readings  opened  up  new  worlds  to  me. 
I  had  never  thought  of  large  cities  and  how 
people  lived  in  them,  and  my  desire  to  learn 
grew  with  every  week. 

Besides  reading  forbidden  literature,  Hannah 
taught  us  history  and  geography;  that  is,  she 
read  while  we  sat  and  listened,  frequently  in- 
terrupting her  with  questions.  It  all  was  so 
sudden  and  wonderful  that  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  study  at  any  cost,  that  I  might  be  able  to  read 
those  wonderful  books  myself.  I  told  Hannah 
and  she  undertook  to  teach  me.     Eveiy  Friday 

25 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OP  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

evening  I  walked  into  town,  and  Hannah  taught 
me  to  read  and  write.  I  kept  my  studies  secret 
even  from  my  father,  because  among  us  it  was 
considered  a  mortal  sin  to  write  on  Friday  even- 
ing. I  was  progressing  in  my  studies  when  new 
developments  made  it  necessary  for  me  to  give 
them  up  for  some  time. 

A  strike  of  the  stocking-weavers  in  Vilna  had 
been  declared.  Their  conditions  of  labor  and 
pay  were  such  that  they  could  not  continue  on 
the  old  terms.  They  did  not  earn  enough  for 
the  bare  necessities  of  life.  But  the  employee 
flatly  refused  to  grant  any  increase  in  pay. 
They  had  stocking-machines  in  every  little  town 
in  the  province,  and  were  getting  the  goods  made 
at  even  lower  price  than  they  had  to  pay  to  city 
employees.  The  "  Bund,"  the  secret  organiza- 
tion mentioned  before,  decided  to  organize  a 
strike  of  all  the  stocking-weavers  in  the  district. 
With  this  purpose  in  view  a  young  woman  agi- 
tator came  to  Smorgon. 

One  evening,  when  all  the  family  were  gath- 
ered round  the  supper  table,  Hannah  and  the 
new-comer  called  on  us.  My  father  was  greatly 
flattered  by  their  visit,  and  received  them  very 
cordially.  The  samovar  was  put  up  —  a  thing 
we  seldom  did  for  ourselves.     Mother  even  pro- 

26 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

cured  some  jelly  and  cake.  They  sat  and 
chatted  for  a  while.  No  one  knew  the  object 
of  their  visit.  When  they  were  leaving  and  I 
showed  them  to  the  door,  Hannah  said  to  me: 

"What  do  you  think?  Will  it  be  possible  to 
hold  a  secret  meeting  in  your  house?  How 
would  your  parents  look  upon  it?  " 

After  considering  for  a  moment  I  suggested 
that  it  would  be  better  to  meet  in  the  forest.  I 
knew  all  the  secret  paths  there.  They  agreed. 
There  and  then,  standing  in  the  dark  passage, 
we  worked  out  a  plan  for  the  morrow's  meeting. 
We  decided  to  meet  in  the  morning,  when  the  in- 
habitants of  the  village  were  away  in  the  field. 

On  the  following  morning  the  large  oak  trees 
hid  from  view  a  few  young  girls  who  were  cau- 
tiously making  their  way  through  the  forest. 
The  oldest  of  them,  Hannah,  was  seventeen 
years  of  age. 

The  place  chosen  for  the  meeting  was  familiar 
to  me.  Yet  a  short  time  before  I  had  played 
hide-and-seek  there  with  my  village  companions. 
But  how  different  it  had  all  become ! 

The  organizer  made  a  speech.  She  spoke  of 
the  life  of  the  stocking-weavers  in  Vilna. 
Some  were  stai'ving,  others  had  been  imprisoned. 
Their  only  demand  was  an  increase  of  one  ko- 

27 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

peck  on  a  pair  of  stockings.  But  she  not  only 
pictured  to  us  the  miseries  of  their  existence, 
she  also  spoke  about  the  coming  victory. 

"  There  will  come  a  day,"  she  said,  "  when 
there  will  be  neither  rich  nor  poor:  all  will  be 
equal.  We  will  make  it  come.  Only  we  must 
unite  for  the  struggle." 

She  uttered  these  words  with  almost  religious 
fervor.  Their  impression  upon  me  was  tre- 
mendous. My  faith  in  all  she  said  was  so  great 
that  I  already  pictured  to  myself  our  humble 
village  changed  beyond  recognition.  The  huts 
disappeared.  In  their  places  stood  magnificent 
dwellings  in  which  happy  people  lived  a  happy 
life.  To  make  that  change  seemed  to  me  a  very 
simple  thing  to  do. 

"  We  must  unite  and  take  the  land  away  from 
the  rich  proprietors,"  I  thought.  "  They  hold 
it  and  do  not  use  it,  so  it  ^ill  be  all  the  same 
to  them.     But  we  need  it  very  badly." 

I  was  so  absorbed  in  the  plan  of  converting 
our  village  into  a  veritable  paradise  on  earth 
that  I  did  not  hear  how  the  girls  had  decided  to 
send  agitators  to  the  cities  of  Slonim  and  Osh- 
miany  to  call  a  strike  of  the  local  stocking-weav- 
ers. My  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  Hannah, 
who  asked  me  if  I  wanted  to  go  with  her  and 

28 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

help  lier  organize  a  strike  there.  "  Yes,  of 
course,"  I  hastened  to  reply.  Towards  noon 
we  dispersed,  and  I  promised  Hannah  to  come 
to  her  on  the  next  day. 

Hannah,  evidently,  did  not  understand  what 
it  meant  to  me  to  stop  work  in  the  middle  of  the 
week,  leave  my  home,  and  go  to  the  city.  I  did 
not  even  know  where  that  city  was.  I  had  never 
been  farther  than  Smorgon.  But  the  impres- 
sion made  upon  me  by  the  girl's  speech  was  such 
that  I  did  not  stop  to  think  how  I  would  go 
away  and  what  I  would  say  to  my  parents. 

"  What  does  it  matter !  "  I  thought  afterward. 
"  Anyway  there  will  soon  be  an  end  to  our  pov- 
erty!" 

T\Tien,  on  my  return  home,  mother  repri- 
manded me  for  being  away  from  the  field,  I 
answered  her: 

"  Oh,  Mamma  dear,  if  you  knew  what  a  grand 
time  we  will  soon  have.  There  will  be  neither 
rich  nor  poor !  " 

"  What  nonsense  are  you  talking?  "  cried  my 
mother.  "Where  did  you  get  all  these  stupid 
notions?  I  suppose  that  philosopher  is  teach- 
ing you  all  this  trash." 

Mother  meant  Hannah.  It  was  very  painful 
to  me  that  mother  was  so  ignorant  and  could  not 

29 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

understand  such  a  simple  thing,  but  I  consoled 
myself  with  the  thought  that  she  would  under- 
stand when  the  time  came.  I  did  not  venture, 
however,  to  mention  anything  about  going  to 
the  city. 

Morning  came.  My  parents  went  away,  I 
hastily  dressed  myself  in  my  best,  and  said  to 
my  sisters :  "  Tell  Mamma  that  I  went  to  Han- 
nah." And  I  ran  out  of  the  house,  fearing  that 
somebody  might  come  and  detain  me.  A  con- 
veyance was  waiting  in  the  rabbi's  yard.  The 
old  nag,  urged  on  by  a  long  whip  in  the  hands 
of  our  driver,  pulled  at  the  wagon  lazily,  and  we 
started. 

Our  wagon  lurched  and  jolted  on  the  rough 
road.  Clouds  of  dust  rose  from  under  the 
horse's  hoofs.  The  sun  was  burning  fiercely.  I 
looked  at  the  unmown  fields,  and  a  feeling  of 
sadness  filled  my  heart. 

"  How  uneasy  Father  w^ill  feel  when  I  shall 
not  come  to  sleep,"  I  thought,  but  I  did  not 
share  my  thought  with  Hannah.  I  did  not  want 
to  lower  myself  in  her  estimation.  She  evi- 
dently considered  me  more  independent,  and  I 
derived  great  satisfaction  from  her  opinion  of 
me. 

Four  days  we  traveled  thus,  stopping  over- 
30 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

night  in  peasant  huts.  About  noon  of  the  fifth 
day  we  arrived  in  Slonim  where  we  stopped  at 
an  inn.  Having  instructed  our  driver  to  wait 
for  us  there,  we  went  to  look  over  the  city.  Our 
plan  of  action  was  a  very  simple  one.  We  de- 
cided to  look  into  every  house  through  the  win- 
dows, and  go  in  wherever  we  saw  a  stocking- 
machine.  Hannah  walked  on  one  side  of  the 
street,  and  I  on  the  other.  After  a  long  search 
I  saw  a  girl  sitting  at  a  machine.  I  went  in. 
Women  and  children  crowded  around  me  and 
began  to  question  me  who  I  was  and  what  I 
wanted. 

"  I  have  been  sent  by  the  secret  organization, 
the  '  Bund,'  to  organize  a  strike  of  the  stocking- 
weavers,"  I  said.  And  I  immediately  began  to 
describe  that  wonderful  rich  time  which  was 
to  come  soon.  "  There  will  be  neither  rich  nor 
poor ! "  I  concluded  solemnly.  I  sincerely  be- 
lieved in  what  I  was  saying,  and  my  hearers 
were  carried  away  by  my  enthusiasm.  They 
asked  me  to  take  off  my  things,  and  gave  me  to 
eat.  Hannah  also  came  in,  having  grown  tired 
of  waiting. 

We  sent  a  girl  to  call  the  other  stocking-weav- 
ers. In  about  an  hour  the  house  was  filled.  I 
mounted  a  chair  and,  unexpectedly  to  myself, 

31 


v/ 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

exhorted  them  to  strike  for  the  abolition  of  the 
unjust  system.  "  Let  there  be  neither  rich  nor 
poor !  Let  there  be  equality !  "  I  shouted.  The 
girls  were  much  impressed  by  my  speech.  It 
was  arranged  to  call  a  meeting  of  all  the  stock- 
ing-weavers in  the  city. 

In  the  evening  Hannah  and  I  were  conducted 
to  the  meeting-place,  a  large,  old  structure.  It 
turned  out  to  be  a  Jewish  synagogue.  It  was  in 
semi-darkness,  and  crowded  with  girls  of  all 
ages.  Hannah  explained  to  them  the  demands 
which  they  were  to  submit  to  their  contractors 
the  next  morning,  and  I  was  getting  ready  to 
make  a  speech,  when  some  one  cried,  "  Gorodo- 
voi!"^  Terror  seized  everybody.  Some  one 
wisely  put  out  the  candles.  Great  confusion  en- 
sued. Pushing  and  jostling  each  other;  all 
made  for  the  door.  Some  fell.  But  all  were 
silent.  Only  the  heavy  breathing  of  the  fright- 
ened girls  could  be  heard  in  the  darkness. 
Gradually  the  room  was  cleared.  Hannah  took 
me  by  the  arm,  and  we  went  out. 

"  We  had  better  leave  this  city  immediately," 
she  said  to  me,  "  otherwise  we  shall  be  arrested." 

That  very  evening  we  left  for  Oshmiany. 
This  city  made  a  great  impression  upon  me.  I 
3  Policeman. 

32 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

had  never  before  seen  such  nice  houses  and  well- 
lighted  streets.  "  This  is  a  real  paradise,"  I 
thought  to  myself. 

Hannah  had  a  number  of  friends  there  and 
matters  were  arranged  quickly.  Soon  all  the 
stocking-weavers  joined  the  strike.  Having  ac- 
complished our  purpose,  Hannah  and  I  returned 
to  our  homes.  With  a  beating  heart  I  ap- 
proached our  village.  The  broken  panes  of  our 
cheerless  hut  greeted  my  eyes,  and  filled  me  with 
longing  for  the  beautiful  houses  of  the  city. 


33 


II 


THE  few  days  which  I  passed  away  from 
home  and  my  first  glimpse  of  the  city  gave 
rise  to  very  definite  ideas  in  my  mind :  that 
there  was  a  better  life  than  ours,  and  that  this 
better  life  could  be  found  only  in  a  large  city, 
in  those  tall  buildings  and  well-lighted  streets. 
These  thoughts  pursued  me  wherever  I  went  and 
whatever  I  did.  My  mother  beat  me ;  she  burned 
the  books  which  I  read  by  stealth  —  she  was  il- 
literate and  considered  reading  a  waste  of  time 
—  but  I  bravely  bore  the  persecution  of  my 
mother  and  elder  sister,  and  nothing  could  kill 
my  desire  to  learn  about  that  life.  I  could 
hardly  read  on  week-days,  because  the  work 
tired  me  out  to  such  an  extent  that  I  used  to 
fall  fast  asleep  early  in  the  evening,  but  on  Sat- 
urdays I  spent  the  whole  day  reading.  I  called 
my  girl-friends  together  and  we  locked  ourselves 
in  the  barn.  I  read  to  them  the  "  Four  Broth- 
ers," the  only  book  I  knew  well,  and  which  I 

34 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

could  almost  recite  from  memory.  I  also 
shared  with  them  any  ideas  which  I  picked  up  in 
my  association  with  Hannah. 

My  brother  Wolf  and  I  resorted  to  all  sorts 
of  tricks  in  order  to  gain  more  time  for  reading. 
He  liked  books  of  travel  and  romance.  After 
reading  a  book  of  this  kind,  he  imagined  himself 
the  hero  and  acted  accordingly. 

On  Friday  evening,  for  economy's  sake,  mother 
poured  little  kerosene  into  the  lamp.  It  was 
considered  a  great  sin  to  put  out  the  light  on 
that  evening,  and  the  lamp  had  to  burn  itself 
out.  Wolf  and  I  waited  until  all  fell  asleep. 
Then  we  poured  in  more  kerosene,  seated  our- 
selves so  that  the  light  should  not  be  seen,  and 
read  till  late  at  night.  No  one  in  the  house 
knew  of  our  scheme.  But  once  my  father  got 
up  quite  unexpectedly  and  saw  us  seated  on  the 
table  with  books  in  our  hands.  Without  saying 
anything  about  the  dreadful  sin  we  had  commit- 
ted, he  remarked : 

"  You  will  ruin  your  eyes  reading  by  such  a 
light.     You  had  better  go  to  sleep." 

We  complied,  having  left  off  at  the  most  in- 
teresting passage. 


35 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 


One  night  we  were  all  awakened  by  the  neigh- 
ing and  tramping  of  horses  near  our  house. 
We  ran  to  the  windows  and  saw  about  a  dozen 
mounted  gendarmes  and  police  riding  into  our 
yard. 

"What  can  this  mean?"  asked  my  father, 
with  a  tremble  in  his  voice. 

I  immediately  ran  to  the  back  of  the  stove 
and  snatched  a  bundle  of  pamphlets  from  under 
it.  These  were  forbidden  works  given  to  me  by 
Hannah  for  safe  keeping.  I  pressed  them  to  my 
bosom.  I  was  sure  that  the  gendarmes  had 
come  to  take  the  pamphlets  away  from  me, 
and  was  ready  to  defend  them  with  all  my 
strength. 

"  What  have  you  there  in  that  bundle?  "  my 
father  asked  me. 

"  Books." 

"  Give  them  to  me.     I  wdll  hide  them." 

Father  put  the  pamphlets  in  his  coat -pocket 
and  looked  again  out  of  the  window. 

"  They  have  gone,"  he  said,  "  but  their  horses 
are  tied  in  our  yard." 

In  about  an  hour  the  gendarmes  returned, 
mounted  their  horses  and  galloped  away  with- 

36 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

out  going  into  our  house.  When  they  had  gone, 
father  took  my  bundle  of  pamphlets  out  in  the 
field,  back  of  our  kitchen-garden,  and  buried 
them  deep  in  the  ground. 

On  the  following  morning  we  learned  that  the 
gendarmes  had  arrested  the  son  of  the  syna- 
gogue president,  who  shortly  before  had  come 
from  Vilna,  for  his  connection  with  a  secret 
organization.  This  event  kept  our  village  in  a 
state  of  turmoil  and  excitement  for  several 
months.  My  mother,  who  repeatedly  told  my 
father  that  I  would  become  a  "  nihilist,"  that  I 
was  keeping  company  with  "  nihilists,"  now  felt 
perfectly  convinced  that  she  was  right.  She  be- 
gan to  watch  all  my  movements.  The  persecu- 
tion to  which  I  was  subjected  for  my  reading 
and  my  frequent  excursions  to  town  became 
still  more  severe. 

One  day  when  father  and  I  remained  alone  he 
said  to  me : 

"  Maria,  you  must  be  a  good  girl.  I  know 
that  you  will  not  do  anything  wrong.  But  you 
had  better  give  those  books  back  to  the  people 
from  whom  you  got  them.  They  must  not  be 
kept  in  the  house." 

"  Papa,  dear  Papa,"  I  began  excitedly,  "  let 
me  go  to  a  large  city.     I  want  to  study  and  be- 

37 


4*?RQr:,-? 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

come — "  Here  I  stopped,  as  I  did  not  know 
myself  what  I  wanted  to  become.  Father 
looked  at  me  with  his  kind,  bright  eyes,  and 
stroked  my  head.  "  I  cannot  bear  to  see  our 
poverty  any  longer,"  I  continued.  "  I  will  go 
and  learn  how  we  might  live  better.  You  'svall 
see  what  a  learned  girl  I  shall  return.  Then  we 
shall  not  be  poor  any  more." 

Father  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  listen- 
ing to  me  in  thoughtful  silence. 

"  You  have  an  uncle  at  Odessa.  He  is  a  good 
and  learned  man.  I  shall  write  to  him  about 
you  and,  if  he  agrees,  then  I  will  send  you  to 
Odessa.  He  is  my  favorite  brother,"  father 
added,  "  and  to  him  I  will  trust  my  child.  But 
you  must  be  a  good  girl  and  obey  him." 

The  news  that  Mordecai's  daughter  Maria  was 
going  to  Odessa  spread  like  wild-fire;  our  house 
was  constantly  filled  with  women.  My  mother 
showed  them  the  long  browTi  dress  —  my  first 
long  dress  —  which  was  being  made  for  the  oc- 
casion, and  also  three  pillows.  Three  pillows 
and  a  feather-bed  were  the  traditional  part  of  a 
girl's  dowry. 

"  Although  she  is  yet  very  young,"  mother  re- 
marked to  every  new-comer,  "who  can  tell? 
Maybe  she  will  not  want  to  return  home  so  soon, 

38 


—      X      — 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

and  will  grow  up  there,  and  find  lier  happiness 
there :  the  city  is  a  large  one." 

The  train  was  leaving  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  but  I  was  ready  early  in  the  morning. 
I  put  on  my  new  brown  dress,  and  tied  a  red  rib- 
bon in  my  hair.  The  three  pillows,  a  few  coarse 
towels  —  the  work  of  my  mother  —  and  a  piece 
of  homespun  linen  were  packed  in  a  large  valise, 
and  my  preparations  for  the  journey  ended. 

With  a  heavy  heart  I  walked  about  the  field 
and  forest,  bidding  good-by  to  every  nook,  to 
every  little  shrub  along  the  paths.  "Will  I 
ever  see  you  again  ?  "  I  thought,  looking  at  the 
green  meadows. 

All  went  to  the  railroad  station  at  Smorgon 
to  see  me  off :  My  parents,  my  brothers  and  sis- 
ters, our  neighbors,  and  even  strangers,  Han- 
nah, too,  came  and  brought  me  a  letter  to  one  of 
her  friends  at  Odessa. 

When  father  was  bidding  me  good-by,  he  said : 

"  I  believe,  Maria,  that  you  will  be  happy." 

My  mother  wept,  and  kissed  me  a  long  time. 

My  elder  brother  Noah,  who  was  home  on  leave 

of  absence, —  he  w^as  serving  in  the  army  —  gave 

me  his  last  fifty  kopecks. 

At  last  the  third  bell  rang,  and  the  train 
41 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

slowly  pulled  out.  Soon  everj^tbing  disap- 
peared in  a  cloud  of  smoke.  Seeing  nothing 
but  strange  faces  around  me,  I  sat  down  in  a 
corner  and  cried  bitterly. 

On  the  third  day  I  arrived  in  Odessa.  When 
I  went  out  of  the  station  and  saw  the  long  line 
of  izvoshcMks  ^  with  their  shining  top  hats,  my 
heart  filled  with  gladness.  "  Everybody  dresses 
so  nicely  here,"  I  thought. 

I  approached  one  of  them  and  said : 

"  Please  take  me  to  my  uncle,  Mr.  Sukloff.'' 

"  Sure,  Miss,"  he  replied,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye.     "  Got  his  address?  " 

I  w^as  rather  surprised  that  he  did  not  know 
w^here  my  uncle  lived.  I  took  out  of  my  dress 
pocket  a  slip  of  paper  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"  All  right.  Miss,"  he  said,  and  with  a  motion 
of  the  hand  invited  me  to  climb  into  his  car- 
riage. When  we  started,  he  asked  me  where  I 
came  from.  I  told  him  why  I  had  come  to 
Odessa  and  he,  turning  sideways  in  his  seat  and 
listening  to  me,  nodded  his  head  approvingly. 

After  a  long  ride  we  stopped  in  front  of  an  old 
four-story  brick  building. 

"  This  is  where  your  uncle  lives,"  the  izvosh- 
chik  said. 

1  Cabmen. 

42 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Disappointed,  I  stared  at  the  dirty,  weather- 
beaten  structure.  As  I  learned  later,  my  uncle 
lived  in  the  poorest  section  of  the  city,  called 
Moldavanka. 

I  climbed  three  dark  and  filthy  flights  of 
stairs,  followed  by  the  izvoshchik  cari*ying  my 
valise.  On  the  fourth  floor  I  saw  a  card  on  one 
of  the  doors.  It  read :  "  Samuel  Sukloff,  Tu- 
tor." I  rang  the  bell.  A  man  of  above  middle 
height,  thin,  Tsith  a  long  beard  and  sparkling 
eyes,  opened  the  door.  For  a  moment  I  thought 
it  was  my  father,  so  greatly  did  this  man  re- 
semble him.  It  was  my  uncle.  He  greeted  me 
very  warmly  and,  having  paid  the  izvoshchik 
forty-flve  kopecks,  led  me  into  his  apartment. 
My  aunt  and  cousins  surrounded  me  and  re- 
garded me  with  evident  curiosity.  Noticing 
that  I  was  bareheaded,  my  aunt  remarked: 

"  We  must  buy  a  hat  for  you." 

My  uncle  was  a  teacher  of  Russian  at  a  He- 
brew school.  He  earned  sixty  rubles  a  month. 
But  notwithstanding  this  small  salary,  he  man- 
aged to  give  his  children  —  six  sons  and  a 
daughter  —  a  good  education.  One  of  his  sons 
was  a  civil  engineer,  the  others  Avere  attending 
the  gymnasium.  Of  course,  the  children  paid 
their    own    way    through    school,    otherwise    it 

43 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

would  have  been  absolutely  impossible.  But 
their  earnings  were  not  regular,  and  often  the 
whole  family  lived  on  those  sixty  rubles. 

Ill 

The  secret  society  at  Odessa,  at  the  time  I 
came  there,  in  1909,  had  gained  a  firm  footing 
among  the  working  population  of  the  city.  It 
was  headed  by  Social  Democrats.  The  work  of 
a  secret  society  at  that  time  consisted  chiefly  in 
forming  educational  circles  among  the  working 
people  and  in  printing  and  distributing  pro- 
hibited literature,  chiefly  proclamations.  Their 
distribution  was  accomplished  in  many  ways. 
Late  at  night,  when  all  were  fast  asleep,  dozens 
of  young  men  and  women  posted  them  on  lamp- 
posts, telegraph-poles,  houses  and  fences.  They 
scattered  them  in  the  streets  where  workmen 
passed  on  their  way  to  their  labor,  and  threw 
them  into  the  yards  surrounding  the  mills  and 
factories.  At  the  theaters,  when  the  perform- 
ance was  at  its  height,  showers  of  leaflets  would 
fall  from  the  gallery,  from  several  parts  si- 
multaneously. It  was  a  reign  of  paper  terror, 
and  the  police  were  powerless  against  it.  Be- 
fore they  could  gather  up  and  destroy  the  proc- 
lamations,   the   public    read   these   uncensored 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  EUSSIAN  EXILE 

words  with  avidity,  despite  the  governor's  order 
forbidding  it  under  penalty  of  six  months'  im- 
prisonment. It  was  hardly  necessary  to  say 
that  the  proclamations  bitterly  assailed  the  au- 
tocratic regime,  explaining  to  the  working-men 
that  no  changes  in  their  economic  condition 
were  possible  under  a  political  system  which 
forbids  strikes,  which  denies  the  right  of  free 
speech  and  free  assembly. 

The  letter  which  Hannah  gave  me  when  I  was 
leaving  home  was  to  one  of  the  leaders  of  the 
secret  society,  a  Social  Democrat.  When  I 
came  to  him  and  told  him  that  I  wanted  to  study, 
he  immediately  gave  me  a  number  of  proclama- 
tions and  promised  to  send  somebody  to  teach 
me. 

When  I  returned  to  my  uncle's  I  gave  him  and 
my  cousins  several  proclamations.  I  was  sure 
that  my  uncle,  as  well  as  my  cousins,  shared  the 
views  expressed  in  them,  and  how  great  was  my 
astonishment  when  these  people,  whom  I  re- 
garded as  very  learned,  turned  in  horror  from 
my  secret  leaflets. 

"  These  things  lead  to  Siberia,"  they  cried  in 
chorus. 

My  uncle  tore  the  proclamations  across,  and 
thus  addressed  himself  to  me : 

45 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  This  is  not  the  village.  Don't  look  for  the 
truth  here,  because  it  will  get  you  into  prison." 

I  was  at  a  loss  how  to  understand  my  uncle's 
words. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  said.  "I  left  my 
father  and  my  mother,  I  left  my  native  village, 
and  came  here  to  learn  the  truth  and  you  forbid 
me.     How  can  I  agree  to  such  a  thing?  " 

"  You  are  a  child  yet  and  understand  little  in 
these  matters,"  he  said.  "  I  have  grown  sons, 
and  you  must  not  bring  such  things  into  my 
house.  Besides,  you  came  to  me  and  I  am  re- 
sponsible for  your  well-being.  There  is  no  one 
else  here  to  look  after  you.  We  all  like  you  and 
wish  for  your  happiness.  Although  I  am  a  poor 
man,  I  am  willing  to  help  you.  But  you  must 
be  very  careful." 

A  couple  of  days  after  this  conversation  a 
girl  sent  by  the  socialist  leader  came  to  call  me 
to  a  secret  meeting,  which  was  held  at  night. 
Without  saying  anything  to  my  uncle  I  went 
with  her. 

The  circle  to  which  I  was  thus  admitted  con- 
sisted of  nine  workers  and  one  intelliguent  who 
read  political  economy  to  them.  I  felt  proud 
and  happy  at  having  been  received  into  their 
gathering.     This  circle,  in  later  days,  played  an 

46 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

important  part  in  the  revolutionary  movement 
at  Odessa. 

It  was  very  late  when  I  came  home  from  the 
meeting.  My  uncle  was  not  yet  asleep  and  evi- 
dently waiting  for  me. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  he  asked  me.  I 
told  him  everything. 

"  You  must  not  have  anything  to  do  with 
those  people,"  he  said.  "  And  if  you  go  on  like 
this,  I  shall  be  forced  to  send  you  back  home." 

I  found  myself  in  a  very  diflBcult  position.  I 
could  not  renounce  my  books  and  the  people 
who  taught  me,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  did  not 
want  to  go  back  home,  not  having  learned  any- 
thing. For  several  days  I  went  about  un- 
decided what  course  to  take.  Finally  I  found  a 
way  out  of  the  difficulty:  I  decided  to  leave 
my  uncle's  house.  I  told  this  plan  to  one  of  the 
girl  members  of  our  circle,  and  she  suggested 
that  I  come  and  stay  with  her,  promising  to  find 
work  for  me  at  the  factory  where  she  was  em- 
ployed. That  very  day  I  secretly  removed  some 
of  my  things  from  my  uncle's  house  and  went  to 
live  with  the  girl. 


47 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

IV 

The  candy  factory  of  "  Krakhmalnikoff  Broth' 
ers,"  where  my  friend  was  employed,  had  several 
departments,  and  work  was  found  for  me  in 
the  "  wrapping  department."  Several  hundred 
girls  were  engaged  there  in  putting  candy  into 
ready-cut  pieces  of  paper.  The  work  was  very 
simple,  and  after  a  couple  of  hours  I  learned  to 
do  it. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  day  the  tips  of  my  fin- 
gers became  so  sensitive  that  the  contact  of  the 
stiff  paper  caused  me  terrible  pain.  Drops  of 
blood  oozed  through  the  thin  skin.  I  looked 
helplessly  at  my  hands,  not  knowing  how  to  con- 
tinue the  w^ork.     The  girls  tried  to  comfort  me: 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  it  is  always  like  this  the 
first  days.     It  Tvill  pass." 

The  working-hours  at  the  factory  were  from 
seven  in  the  morning  to  seven  in  the  evening, 
allowing  one  hour  for  luncheon.  The  girls 
were  paid  by  the  pood  ^ —  fifteen  kopecks. 
There  were  girls  who  could  wrap  up  two  and 
one-half  poods,  and  thus  earned  thirty-seven  ko- 
pecks. This  was  considered  a  big  wage,  and 
very  few  could  work  so  fast  and  earn  so  much. 

2  A  little  over  thirty-six  pounds. 

48 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Before  seven  o'clock  all  carried  their  work 
upstairs  to  be  weighed.  To  my  great  surprise 
I  had  wrapped  up  only  half  a  pood.  When 
leaving  the  factory  we  were  searched.  I  found 
it  a  very  embarrassing  experience.  This  search 
was  conducted  every  evening.  If  any  girl  was 
found  to  have  some  candy,  she  was  immediately 
discharged. 

For  over  six  months  I  worked  in  this  factory. 
The  tips  of  my  fingers  became  as  hard  as  leather. 
The  searches  no  longer  embarrassed  me.  There 
w^ere  days  when  I  wrapped  up  two  and  one-half 
poods  and  earned  thirty-seven  kopecks,  to  the 
great  delight  of  our  circle. 

There  were  six  of  us  living  in  a  sort  of  com- 
mune,—  Zhenia,  a  factory  girl  of  twenty-two, 
who  was  a  most  ardent  agitator  and  strike  or- 
ganizer; David,  a  clerk;  Grigory,  a  bookbinder, 
who  had  already  been  in  prison  for  distributing 
prohibited  literature;  Nicholai,  a  painter,  who 
became  a  socialist  and  joined  our  circle  after 
his  release  from  prison,  where  he  was  put  for 
preaching  Tolstoyism ;  Ivan,  the  only  intelligu^nt 
in  our  circle;  and  myself.  It  seldom  happened 
that  we  all  had  work;  sometimes  the  whole  cir- 
cle lived  on  the  earnings  of  one  or  two.  There 
were  days  when  none  of  us  had  anything  to  do, 

49 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

and  we  waited  for  the  evening  when  Ivan  would 
come  and  lay  his  last  coppers  on  the  table. 
Then  we  ate  our  "  breakfast." 

But  such  trifles  did  not  trouble  the  people  of 
our  circle.  They  were  all  engaged  in  revolu- 
tionaiT^  activities,  and  entirely  taken  up  by  their 
work.  They  established  secret  printing-offices, 
and  printed  and  distributed  proclamations  by 
the  thousands.  They  organized  new  educa- 
tional circles,  and  were  doing  propaganda  work 
among  the  mill  and  factory  workers.  Of  course, 
each  one  of  them  knew  that  prison,  solitary 
confinement,  and  exile  were  their  inevitable  lot, 
but  this  did  not  deter  them  in  the  least.  Al- 
though they  awaited  arrest  at  any  hour  of  the 
day  or  night,  they  spent  their  spare  time  as  mer- 
rily as  if  nothing  special  were  going  to  happen 
to  them. 

I  did  not  long  remain  "  green  "  among  these 
people.  They  soon  opened  my  eyes  to  the  reali- 
ties of  life.  I  still  dreamed  of  a  better  life,  but 
I  saw  that  its  realization  was  a  possibility  of  the 
distant  future. 

With  youthful  ardor  I  began  to  agitate  among 
the  factory  girls  to  strike  for  higher  pay.  The 
foreman  soon  found  it  out,  and  discharged  me. 
I  found  work  in  an  envelope  factory,  but  as  I 

50 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

continued  my  agitation  there  also,  I  soon  had  to 
look  for  another  place. 

Thus,  in  constant  changing  from  one  factory 
to  another,  two  years  passed.  Our  little  circle 
had  grown  considerably,  and  became  known  in 
the  revolutionai'y  movement  as  the  "  Southern 
Group."  Of  the  old  members,  besides  myself, 
only  David  remained.  Zhenia  and  Ivan  were  in 
prison,  Grigory  was  exiled  to  Siberia,  and  Nicho- 
lai  was  sent  to  serve  in  the  army. 

In  the  meantime  a  new  revolutionary  organ- 
ization came  into  existence  in  Russia,  the  "  So- 
cialist-Revolutionists' Party."  Its  aims  and 
ideals  were  similar  to  those  of  the  Social- 
Democratic  Party,  but  it  differed  from  the  latter 
by  its  program  and  the  methods  it  adopted  in  its 
struggle  against  the  tyranny  of  the  Government. 

One  of  the  most  fundamental  planks  in  the 
new  party's  platform  was,  "  Land  for  the  Peas- 
ants." Although  my  life  and  interests  were  no 
longer  those  of  the  village;  although  I  was  en- 
tirely absorbed  in  the  struggles  of  a  city  worker, 
deep  dowTi  in  my  heart  I  still  remained  a  peas- 
ant, and  my  sympathies  were  with  them.  I  re- 
membered the  misery  in  which  my  own  kinsfolk 
and  millions  of  other  peasants  lived  and  I  joined 
the  new  party.     Nearly  the  whole  "  Southern 

51 


^ 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Group"  followed  me  into  the  fold  of  the  new 
organization. 

My  first  act  of  allegiance  to  the  party  almost 
led  to  my  arrest.  We  received  a  trunkful  of 
proclamations  from  the  Kief  headquarters  of  the 
organization,  and  about  twenty  people  under- 
took to  distribute  them.  I  and  several  others 
went  to  the  theater.  We  sat  in  the  galleiy,  in 
different  corners,  and  waited  for  the  end  of  the 
performance.  As  soon  as  the  curtain  was  low- 
ered, each  of  us  threw  down  two  bundles  of 
proclamations.  The  whole  parterre  floor  was 
covered  with  them.  The  policemen  who  were 
stationed  in  the  building  immediately  ran  to  the 
gallery.  One  of  the  theater  ushers,  who  was 
standing  at  the  door,  saw  me  throw  the  procla- 
mations. He  grabbed  me  by  the  shoulders  and 
called  for  the  police.  But  the  gallery  was 
thronged  with  w^orking-men  and  students  who 
all  sympathized  with  us.  A  dozen  hands  seized, 
me  and  tore  me  away  from  his  grasp.  A  fight 
started.  Some  one  threw  a  large  kerchief  on  my 
head.  When  the  police  reached  our  floor,  they 
locked  the  door  and  began  to  look  for  the  cul- 
prits. The  fight  became  general.  The  usher, 
accompanied  by  a  policeman,  vainly  looked  for 
me.    I  was  already  seated  at  the  other  end  of 

52 


LIEUTKXAXl'    IM/PEK    I'KTKOVICri   SII.\1I1)'|- 
Imijlicated  in  tlie  Uprising  of  tlio  Sevastopol  fleet,  executed   in    P.iot; 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

the  gallery,  looking  quite  unconcerned.  The 
gray  kerchief  saved  me  from  his  detecting  eye. 

One  of  the  most  pressing  needs  of  our  group 
was  the  establishment  of  a  secret  printing-office. 
The  shipments  of  literature  from  Kief  were,  of 
necessity,  very  irregular  and  attended  with  great 
risks.  It  was  found  impossible  to  establish  one 
at  Odessa,  as  the  gendai^mes  were  on  our  track. 
Several  members  of  our  group  had  already  been 
arrested.  It  was,  therefore,  decided  to  do  our 
printing  at  Kishinev,  which  city  is  several  hours' 
ride  from  Odessa.  I  do  not  know  what  inspired 
them  with  such  confidence  in  me,  but  I  w^as 
chosen  by  the  executive  committee  for  this  re- 
sponsible undertaking.  Naturally,  I  was  veiy 
proud  of  their  high  opinion  of  my  abilities  as  a 
conspirator. 

With  a  suit-case  filled  with  type  and  various 
typographical  paraphernalia,  I  came  to  Kishi- 
nev and  settled  in  a  quiet  little  lane.  A  new 
sign  with  a  boot  painted  on  it,  bearing  the  in- 
scription "  Repairing  neatly  done,"  was  placed 
over  the  front  door.  Inside  a  cobbler's  bench 
with  a  complete  set  of  instruments  bore  testi- 
mony to  our  honorable  occupation.  A  local 
comrade  spent  there  a  couple  of  hours  every  day 
mending  my  old  shoes.     Under  this  cloak  I  kept 

55 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

my  suit-case  containing  the  typographic  outfit. 

I  found  work  as  a  seamstress.  Not  wishing 
to  remain  alone  at  night,  I  slept  at  the  house  of 
an  old  couple  whose  daughter  was  one  of  my 
Odessa  friends.  She  had  written  them  about 
me,  and  they  were  glad  to  accommodate  me. 
They  lived  with  their  granddaughter,  a  little  girl 
of  eight. 

Thus  I  established  myself,  and  waited  for  the 
promised  compositor  and  "  copy "  to  arrive. 
But  days  and  weeks  passed,  and  they  did  not 
come.  I  wrote  letter  after  letter,  without  get- 
ting any  reply.  Finally  I  decided  to  go  to 
Odessa  myself  to  investigate.  But  a  very  un- 
fortunate circumstance  prevented  me  from  car- 
rying out  my  decision. 


56 


Ill 


ON  the  night  of  February  8,  1902,  all  the 
four  of  us  were  awakened  by  thunderous 
knocks  on  the  door.  Then  we  heard  the  words, 
"  In  the  name  of  the  law :  open !  "  But  before 
the  old  man  had  time  to  unlatch  it,  there  was  a 
crash,  and  the  door  flew  wide  open.  The  room 
filled  with  gendarmes  and  police.  Without  say- 
ing a  word  to  us,  they  looked  about  the  house, — 
there  were  two  rooms  and  a  kitchen  —  and 
began  a  long  and  careful  search.  Everything  in 
the  house  was  turned  upside  down.  They  cut 
pillows  and  mattresses,  they  tore  the  lining  of 
old  hats,  they  even  examined  the  backs  of  pic- 
tures on  the  wall.  But  nothing  suspicious  was 
to  be  found:  there  were  not  even  any  books  in 
the  house.  The  disappointed  gendarmes  were 
on  the  point  of  departing,  when  one  of  them 
picked  up  my  dress  which  lay  on  a  chair.  He 
fumbled  in  its  pocket,  and  drew  forth  a  few 
pieces  of  type.     These  were  capital  letters  which 

57 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

I  had  borrowed  from  a  type-setter,  an  acquaint- 
ance of  mine,  intending  to  add  to  my  supply,  but 
had  forgotten  to  put  them  in  my  suit-case.  The 
faces  of  the  gendarmes  instantly  changed.  Each 
of  them  closely  examined  the  unfortunate  let- 
ters. They  handled  them  with  as  much  care  as 
though  they  were  not  mere  metal  type,  but  dyna- 
mite bombs. 

The  gendarme  officer  sat  down  and  began  to 
write  a  protocol.^     He  only  asked  me : 

"  Does  this  dress  belong  to  you?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  are  arrested.     Dress  yourself." 

Much  to  my  terror,  he  turned  to  the  old  man 
with  the  same  words.  The  old  woman  and  the 
little  girl  began  to  cry.  In  great  agitation  I 
tried  to  explain  to  the  officer  that  the  old  man 
knew  nothing  about  the  type  found  in  my  pocket, 
but  he  rudely  interrupted  me : 

"  No  use  of  talking.  This  question  will  be 
settled  later.  It  is  not  our  business  to  decide 
who  is  right  and  who  is  wrong." 

At  the  officer's  command  the  gendarmes  closed 
around  us  in  a  circle  and  we  were  led  out  of  the 
house.  The  old  woman  wept.  The  little  grand- 
daughter, who  ran  crying  after  her  grandfather, 

1  Report. 

58 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

was  roughly  pushed  aside.  I  had  only  time  to 
call  out  to  my  hostess,  "  Forgive  me !  "  when  the 
door  slammed  behind  us. 

The  night  was  dark  and  cold.  Surrounded 
on  all  sides  by  police  and  gendarmes,  we  walked 
in  the  middle  of  the  road,  with  our  heads  low- 
ered. The  old  man  was  silent,  and  his  silence 
was  terrible  to  me.  I  could  not  see  clearly  what 
was  my  guilt  before  him,  but  the  feeling  grew 
in  my  heart. 

"  O  God,  this  is  how  I  have  repaid  these  good 
old  people  for  their  kindness,"  I  thought  as  I 
walked  along. 

I  absolutely  forgot  that  I  was  being  marched 
to  prison.  The  sight  of  that  gray  head  bowed 
before  the  gendarmes  had  made  me  oblivious  of 
my  own  plight. 

At  last  we  arrived,  and  the  heavy  gates  of  the 
prison  swung  open  before  us.  We  were  led  to 
the  office.  There  we  were  searched.  The  gov- 
ernor at  the  prison  wrote  down  our  names,  and 
ordered  one  of  the  guards  to  put  us  in  cells.  I 
dared  not  look  at  the  old  man,  but  he  extended 
me  his  hand  and  said : 

"  Be  brave.     Don't  be  afraid." 

A  lump  rose  in  my  throat,  and  I  could  not 
utter  a  word.    Afterward  I  could  not  forgive 

59 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

myself  that  I  had  not  asked  this  good  old  man's 
pardon. 

Occupied  with  these  thoughts,  I  did  not  even 
notice  where  I  was  being  led.  I  only  remember 
climbing  a  narrow  staircase.  The  guard  stopped 
in  a  long,  dimly-lit  corridor  and  opened  one  of 
the  doors.  I  entered,  and  he  immediately  closed 
the  door  after  me  and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 
I  remained  standing  near  the  door,  listening  to 
his  retreating  steps. 

Through  a  little  hole  in  the  door  I  could  see 
the  hanging  lamp  in  the  corridor.  This  lamp 
also  lighted  my  cell.  I  looked  about  me.  The 
cell  was  about  nine  feet  by  six.  It  contained  a 
small  table,  a  stool,  and  a  wooden  cot.  A  nar- 
row window,  with  double  iron  bars,  was  high  in 
the  wall. 

I  stood  in  this  dark  cage,  having  no  desire  to 
move.  The  only  thought  in  my  mind  was  that 
the  door  was  locked,  and  that  I  could  not  go  out 
of  that  place. 

Suddenly  footsteps  were  heard.  My  heart  be- 
gan to  beat  with  hope:  Maybe  they  are  going 
to  release  me !  But  the  guard  came,  put  out  the 
lamp  in  the  corridor,  peeped  into  the  door-hole, 
and  calmly  walked  away. 

The  feeble  light  of  the  approaching  day  pene- 
60 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

trated  the  double  bars,  and  I  could  see  the  bare 
stone  walls  of  my  cell  which  were  painted  black 
half-way  from  the  floor.  The  light  seemed  to 
have  roused  my  energies. 

My  first  thought  was  to  look  out  of  the  win- 
dow. I  approached  it,  but  it  was  high  above  my 
head.  I  dragged  the  stool  over  and  climbed  upon 
it.  Opposite  me,  at  a  distance  of  about  twenty 
paces,  I  saw  a  row  of  narrow  iron-barred  win- 
dows. The  gray  stone  wall  which  surrounded 
the  prison  did  not  seem  high  from  my  point  of 
observation. 

"  I  will  escape  from  here,"  I  decided  immedi- 
ately. "  I  can't  remain  in  this  hole."  But  days, 
weeks,  months  passed,  and  I  still  sat  within  those 
walls. 

II 

In  the  morning  a  guard  entered  my  cell  and 
brought  me  black  bread  and  hot  water. 

"  Tell  me,"  I  asked  him,  "  how  long  do  you 
think  I  shall  be  kept  here?  " 

The  guard  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"And  how  are  we  to  know?"  he  answered, 
and  went  out. 

A  few  days  later  I  was  called  to  the  examina- 
tion. It  was  necessary  to  cross  the  prison  yard 
to  get  to  the  office. 

61 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  Comrade !  "  I  heard  several  voices  issuing 
from  somewhere.  I  raised  my  head  and  saw 
hands  with  white  handkerchiefs,  which  fluttered 
in  the  wind,  thrust  out  between  the  window  bars. 
They  greeted  me. 

"  Good-morning !  "  I  shouted  cheerfully.  But 
the  heavy  arm  of  the  guard  was  on  my  shoulder. 

"  You  must  not  speak  to  them,  otherwise  I  will 
put  you  in  the  kartzer."  ^ 

But  it  was  too  late :  I  already  knew  that  I 
was  not  alone  there. 

The  gendarme  colonel  met  me  very  cordially. 
His  broad  face  was  smiling,  and  his  little  gray 
eyes  looked  at  me  insinuatingly. 

"  Be  seated."  He  pointed  to  a  chair  near  his 
table.  "What  is  your  Christian  name?  Sur- 
name?   What  is  your  age?  " 

1  told  him. 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  to  be  in  prison?"  he 
asked  me  in  a  free  manner. 

"Oh,  it's  terrible!"  I  said. 

"Well,  you  see,  you  are  too  young  yet  to  be 
in  prison,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  release  you.  It 
all  depends  on  you,  though." 

"  How?  "  I  asked,  surprised. 

2  A  dark,  windowless  cell,  in  which  prisoners  are  Icept  on 
bread  and  water. 

62 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  EUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  You  have  only  to  tell  — "  here  the  colonel 
took  from  the  table  drawer  the  unfortunate 
pieces  of  type  which  were  found  in  my  pocket, 
"who  gave  you  this,  then  I  will  immediately 
release  you." 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  I  said. 

"  It  would  be  very  imprudent  on  your  part  not 
to  tell.     You  will  fare  badly,  and  regret  it." 

"  But  if  I  should  name  the  person  who  gave 
me  these  letters  you  will  arrest  him.  How  can 
I  do  such  a  thing?  " 

"  Oh,  he  is  already  in  prison,  anyway,  and  we 
know  who  he  is." 

"  Then  why  do  you  ask  me  to  name  him?  " 

"  That  is  only  a  little  formality  which  the  law 
requires  for  your  release.  Sign  this  paper,  and 
I  will  let  you  free." 

He  shoved  a  paper  over  to  me.  I  looked  at 
the  paper  upon  which  my  release  depended,  and 
doubt  rose  in  my  mind.  Is  it  really  so?  Does 
he  not  fool  me?  And  suddenly  I  remembered  a 
little  book  I  had  read  in  Odessa,  entitled: 
"  Comrades,  decline  to  give  evidence !  "  In  this 
booklet,  published  by  the  Socialist-Revolution- 
ists' Party,  it  was  explained  that  the  gendarmes 
took  advantage  of  the  inexperience  of  young  po- 
litical  prisoners   and   obtained  from   them   in- 

63 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

criminating  evidence  by  false  promises  of  release, 
etc. 

"  I  decline  to  give  evidence,"  I  said. 

The  colonel  took  from  the  table  drawer  a  little 
book  and  handed  it  to  me. 

"  Have  you  read  this  book?  "  he  asked. 

It  turned  out  to  be  the  very  same  booklet. 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  did  you  get  it?  " 

I  was  silent. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  the  colonel  went  on.  "  I 
ask  this  as  a  private  person,  not  as  the  gendarme 
colonel.  I  am  simply  curious  to  know  who 
could  have  given  you  this  booklet." 

The  colonel's  tone  was  so  simple  and  so  sin- 
cere, and  in  general  he  was  not  as  I  had  pictured 
to  myself  a  gendarme  colonel  ought  to  be.  I 
hesitated.  The  colonel,  evidently  guessing  my 
thoughts,  put  his  plump  hand  on  mine  and  said : 

"  We  are  not  such  bad  people." 

"  Then  why  do  you  keep  this  old  man  B ?  " 

I  asked.  "  If  you  are  a  nice  man,  you  must  re- 
lease him,  because  you  know  that  he  is  not  guilty 
of  anything." 

"  That  does  not  depend  upon  me,"  the  colonel 
answered. 

"  Then  I  don't  believe  you,"  I  cried.  "  You 
64 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

merely  want  to  get  a  confession  from  me,  so  that 
you  might  arrest  several  more  innocent  people." 

"  The  worse  for  you,"  the  colonel  said,  chang- 
ing his  tone  sharply.  He  got  up,  opened  the 
door,  and  summoned  the  guard. 

"  The  examination  is  over.  Take  the  prisoner 
to  the  secret  division." 

I  was  led  out  by  another  passage,  and  soon 
found  myself  in  a  low,  circular  cell.  A  heavy 
smell  of  dampness  filled  the  air,  as  in  a  grave. 
The  tiny  window  was  on  a  level  with  the  ground. 
Only  the  lower  part  of  the  prison  wall  could  be 
seen  from  it ;  not  a  bit  of  sky  or  anything  which 
might  cheer  the  prisoner's  eye. 

But  I  did  not  think  of  comforts  then.  A  feel- 
ing of  gladness  that  I  had  not  fallen  into  the 
gendarme's  trap  filled  me.  The  thought  that 
they  had  not  discovered  the  house  where  I  kept 
the  type  was  a  great  relief  to  me.  And  the 
knowledge  that  I  was  not  alone  in  prison,  that  all 
around  me  were  comrades  who  were  also  fighting 
for  liberty  and  justice,  raised  my  spirits  still 
more, 

"  If  they  only  should  let  the  old  man  out,"  I 
thought. 

I  paced  my  half-dark  cell,  not  knowing  how  to 
give  vent  to  my  feelings. 

65 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  It  is  impossible  they  should  keep  me  long 
here,"  I  thought  to  myself. 

I  was  then  not  quite  seventeen.  Life  was  just 
beginning  to  unfold  before  me.  It  was  still 
shrouded  in  mystery.  Everything  in  the  world 
seemed  so  beautiful  and  attractive.  Suddenly 
the  stone  walls  of  the  prison  had  shut  out  every- 
thing from  my  view. 

For  many  days  I  could  not  believe  that  I  was 
there  to  stay.  From  morning  till  night  I 
dreamed  how  my  door  would  open  and  the  guard 
would  say :    "  You  are  free !  " 

Three  times  a  day  he  came  to  my  cell  bringing 
me  food,  and  every  time  I  heard  his  footsteps 
near  the  door  my  heart  filled  with  hope  that  he 
would  utter  those  magic  words :  "  You  are 
free ! "  But  days,  weeks,  months  passed,  and 
the  guard,  instead  of  freedom,  brought  me  bread 
and  kasha. 

My  dreams  faded,  and  the  thought  that  they 
had  forgotten  me  in  this  grave  occurred  to  me 
more  and  more  frequently. 

"Why  am  I  not  called  to  the  examination?" 
I  asked  the  governor,  who  sometimes  came  to  the 
evening  roll-call. 

"  That  is  not  our  affair,"  was  his  invariable 
reply.     "  Write  a  petition." 

66 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

The  darkness  and  dampness  of  my  cell  began 
to  have  their  effect  upon  me.  I  began  to  suffer 
with  insomnia.  The  twenty-minutes'  daily  walk 
in  the  prison-yard  became  a  torture  to  me.  The 
sun  shone  so  brightly  without  the  prison  walls, 
and  here  I  was  shut  up,  deprived  of  its  rays,  de- 
prived of  my  freedom,  without  which  I  felt  I 
could  not  live. 

in 

Easter  came,  my  second  one  in  prison.  Easter 
had  been  my  favorite  holiday  in  the  village,  but 
here  it  made  me  still  more  sad.  The  church 
bells  which  toll  so  solemnly  and  joyfully  outside, 
in  liberty,  here  in  the  x)rison,  sounded  like  the 
ringing  of  bells  at  a  funeral. 

There  is  no  holiday  for  the  prisoner.  On  such 
days  he  feels  still  more  keenly  that  he  is  not 
free  and  is  deprived  of  the  possibility  of  being 
with  those  dear  to  him.  The  longing  for  my 
folks  at  home  and  the  desire  to  know  something 
about  them  almost  drove  me  insane.  My  en- 
forced solitude  on  those  days  became  unbearable. 

On  the  second  day  unusual  sounds  reached  my 
ear;  now  loud,  now  subdued,  they  seemed  to 
crowd  into  my  cell  from  all  sides.  Guards  ran 
past  my  door  more  and  more  frequently.     I  be- 

67 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

came  uneasy.  What  can  it  mean?  In  alarm  I 
paced  my  cell,  like  a  caged  animal,  seeking  to 
escape  from  those  sounds  which  filled  me  with 
a  strange  foreboding.  I  knocked  on  the  door, 
and  the  guard  came. 

"What  is  going  on?"  I  asked  him.  He  only 
motioned  with  his  hand,  and  went  away.  But 
I  felt  that  those  sounds  would  drive  me  mad.  I 
knocked  again,  and  the  same  guard  came. 

"  I  cannot  stand  it  any  longer,"  I  began, 
greatly  agitated.  "  I  shall  go  mad  if  you  don't 
tell  w^hat  are  these  cries.  For  God's  sake,  only 
one  word !  "  I  implored  him. 

The  guard  looked  at  me  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
said  in  a  whisper : 

"  It  was  ordered  to  kill  the  Jews,  that 's  what 
it  is." 

All  my  blood  rushed  into  my  head  at  these 
words.  I  remained  standing  near  the  door,  un- 
able to  take  a  step. 

An  hour  or  so  later  the  door  of  my  cell  opened, 
and  the  governor  entered. 

"  Collect  your  things.  You  are  transferred  to 
another  cell." 

His  words  made  no  impression  upon  me.  It 
was  all  the  same  to  me  whether  I  was  to  remain 
in  this  hole  or  go  to  a  better  cell,  or  even  be  re- 

68 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

leased,  I  heard  nothing,  I  was  conscious  of 
nothing  but  the  cries  of  the  Jews  who  were  being 
killed. 

A  strange  sight  greeted  my  eyes  when  I  was 
led  out  of  my  cell.  The  whole  prison  yard  was 
covered  with  feathers  which  the  wind  brought 
from  town.  These  were  from  the  Jewish  pillows 
and  feather-beds  torn  by  the  rioters. 

Soon  the  prison  filled  with  Jews  who  sought 
protection  within  its  walls,  but  this  did  not  enter 
into  the  plans  of  the  authorities,  and  an  order 
was  issued  not  to  let  any  more  Jews  into  the 
prison.' 

For  two  days  and  two  nights  the  massacre  of 
the  Jews  continued,  and  their  agonizing  cries 
were  heard  in  our  prison.  Only  on  the  third 
day  they  began  to  arrest  the  rioters,  who  were 
so  drunk  that  they  could  not  walk,  and  the  police 
carried  them  into  the  cells. 

Several  days  after  the  pogrom  I  was  called  to 
the  examination.  The  procureur  and  the  same 
gendarme  colonel  met  me  with  very  solemn  faces. 
The  procureur  said  to  me : 

"  You  are  accused  of  belonging  to  a  secret  so- 
ciety which  has  for  its  object  the  overthrow  of 
the  existing  form  of  government,  and  of  con- 
spiring against  the  sacred  person  of  his  Imperial 

69 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Majesty.  With  this  aim  in  view  joii  took  part 
in  the  establishment  of  a  secret  printing-office 
and  the  distribution  of  forbidden  proclamations 
which  instigated  a  pogrom  in  the  city  of  Kishi- 
nev.    Are  you  guilty  of  the  criminal  offenses?" 

I  was  dumfounded. 

"  How  is  that?  "  I  protested  when  I  had  re- 
gained my  power  of  speech.  "  I  have  been  in 
prison  since  February  8,  1902,  so  how  can  I  be 
accused  of  instigating  the  i)Ogrom  which  took 
place  only  a  few  days  ago?  " 

"  The  point  is,"  said  the  procureur,  "  that  the 
letters  which  were  found  in  the  pocket  of  your 
dress  are  of  the  same  identical  type  Tvdth  which 
the  forbidden  leaflets  w^ere  printed.  As  to  your 
plotting  to  overthrow  the  existing  form  of  gov- 
ernment, this  can  be  seen  from  your  letters  to 
Nicholai  Shpeizman.  In  one  of  them  you  say: 
'■  I  shall  not  rest  until  I  shed  the  blood  of  the 
vampire.'  Do  you  admit  that  these  letters — " 
here  he  took  out  of  a  portfolio  a  bundle  of  my 
letters  to  Comrade  Nicholai,  who  was  serving  in 
the  army, — "  found  on  Private  Shpeizman,  and 
which  are  written  in  Yiddish,  are  yours?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  but  these  letters  were  writ- 
ten a  year  ago,  and  I  do  not  remember  having 
used  the  expression  you  attribute  to  me." 

70 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  This  will  be  tlie  business  of  experts  to  deter- 
mine," he  said.  "  And  now,  the  preliminary  in- 
quest in  your  case  has  been  terminated,  and  by 
order  of  his  Excellency,  the  Minister  of  the  In- 
terior, Plehve,  you  will  be  put  on  trial." 

The  examination  was  over,  and  I  was  led  back 
to  my  cell.  After  this  examination  it  became 
clear  to  me  that  I  would  not  be  released  so  soon. 
The  letters  which  were  found  on  Comrade  Nicho- 
lai  were  ample  evidence  against  me,  as  I  spoke 
in  them,  in  no  uncertain  tones,  about  the  tyranny 
of  the  government.  The  thought  that  my  com- 
rade must  have  been  arrested  and,  being  a 
soldier,  w^ould  surely  be  court-martialed,  dark- 
ened my  existence  still  more. 

In  the  meantime  the  prison  was  being  filled 
with  politicals  and  anti-Jewish  rioters.  The  lat- 
ter were  being  arrested  because  they  declared 
that  they  had  been  ordered  to  "kill  the  Jews." 
Small  cells  built  for  one  now  sheltered  two  or 
three  people. 

One  night  a  woman  carrying  a  little  baby  in 
her  arms  was  brought  into  my  cell.  She  was 
arrested,  together  with  her  husband  and  sei^ant. 
Her  husband,  one  Alexander  Orloff,  was  one  of 
the  leading  spirits  of  the  Social-Democratic 
Party,  and  at  his  house  was  found  a  secret  print- 

71 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

ing-office  where  the  first  issues  of  the  well-knoTSTi, 
forbidden  journal  Iskra  (The  Spark)  had  been 
printed. 

The  presence  of  the  woman  and  her  nine- 
months-old  baby  completely  changed  my  prison 
life.  My  own  sufferings  seemed  to  me  as  noth- 
ing compared  to  those  of  the  mother  and  child. 
This  child  later  played  a  great  part  in  my  life. 

A  few  wrecks  after  their  arrest,  Mrs.  Orloff 
chanced  to  see  her  husband  through  the  window, 
and  called  out  to  him,  "  Good-morning !  "  Just 
at  that  moment  the  governor  of  the  prison  was 
crossing  the  yard.  He  immediately  ordered  to 
put  her  in  the  kartzer.  When  the  guard  came 
to  take  her  she  refused  to  go,  saying  that  she 
could  not  leave  the  baby.  Then  the  governor 
ordered  that  she  be  taken  by  force.  Hearing 
this,  I  shouted  to  Mr.  Orloff:  "Your  wife  is 
being  taken  to  the  kartzer."  He  began  to  knock 
on  the  door  of  his  cell,  calling  for  the  governor. 
Several  guards  came  into  his  cell,  gave  him  a 
terrible  beating,  and  tied  him  hand  and  foot. 
On  learning  of  it,  all  the  politicals  began  to  make 
a  terrific  noise,  knocking  on  the  doors  with  their 
feet,  throwing  the  furniture  on  the  floor,  and 
shouting  for  the  governor  to  come.  He  came, 
but  with  a  company  of  soldiers.     He  lined  them 

72 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

up  in  the  yard,  and  himself  with  several  soldiers 
came  into  our  cell.  Mrs.  Orloff  held  the  baby  in 
her  arms,  pressing  it  close  to  her  breast. 

"  Soldiers,"  she  addressed  herself  to  them,  "  is 
it  possible  that  you  will  have  the  heart  to  tear 
me  away  from  my  little  baby?  " 

She  cried  and  the  baby,  frightened  by  the  sight 
of  "Strange  men,  screamed  at  the  top  of  its  voice. 
The  soldiers  were  taken  aback,  and  did  not  dare 
come  near  her.  Then  the  governor  himself  ap- 
proached her,  seized  her  by  the  arms,  and  began 
to  squeeze  them  above  the  elbows.  After  a 
struggle  which  lasted  a  few  minutes  the  arms  of 
the  mother  relaxed,  and  the  baby  fell  to  the  floor. 
A  pitiful  moan  filled  the  cell. 

"  Take  him,"  shouted  the  governor  to  the  sol- 
diers, "  and  get  him  out  of  here." 

I  seized  a  log  and  threw  it  at  the  governor's 
head,  but  he  jumped  aside.  He  ordered  to  take 
me  also  to  the  kartzer. 

When  Mrs.  Orloff  and  I  were  led  to  the  kart- 
zer the  whole  prison  w^as  in  an  uproar.  The 
noise  of  falling  furniture,  knocking,  and  shout- 
ing was  deafening.  The  common-law  criminals 
had  seen  the  soldiers  carrying  somewhere  a  half- 
naked  child  and  joined  the  politicals  in  the 
protest. 

75 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Soon  the  procureur  arrived.  He  visited  every 
cell  and  assured  the  prisoners  that  the  child  had 
been  restored  to  its  mother,  and  that  the  mother 
had  been  released  from  the  kartzer.  The  com- 
mon-law criminals  quieted  down,  but  the  politi- 
cals, knowing  from  past  experience  that  his  word 
could  not  be  trusted,  continued  the  noise.  Then 
they  were  all  tied,  and  lay  helplessly  on  their 
cots. 

In  the  meantime  Mi*s.  Orloff,  locked  in  the 
dark  cell,  was  frantic  with  anxiety  over  her 
child's  condition.  After  several  hours  we  were 
let  out  from  the  kartzer,  and  the  baby  was 
brought  to  the  mother.  Happily  it  was  not  in- 
jured; only  bruised  in  some  parts  of  the  body. 

As  we  learned  later,  Mr.  Orloff,  on  hearing 
that  the  soldiers  forced  their  way  into  his  wife's 
cell,  decided  to  commit  suicide.  He  managed  to 
break  a  window,  and  wdth  a  piece  of  glass  began 
to  cut  an  artery  in  his  arm.  A  guard  happened 
to  open  his  door  at  that  time  and  frustrated  the 
attempt.  When  this  had  been  reported  to  the 
governor,  he  ordered  to  release  us  from  the 
kartzer. 

IV 

Because  of  the  crowded  condition  of  our 
prison  it  was  impossible  to  maintain  a  regime  of 

76 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

strict  isolation.  The  politicals  who  had  rela- 
tives in  town  were  allowed  interviews  with  them. 
Notwithstanding  that  these  interviews  took  place 
in  the  presence  of  gendarmes,  they  succeeded  in 
sending  verbal  messages  to  friends  outside,  and 
also  found  out  what  was  going  on  without  the 
prison  walls.  The  news  that  the  Orloffs,  their 
servant,  and  I  would  be  put  on  trial  reached  the 
outside  world. 

In  those  years  politicals  had  not  been  tried  in 
any  court.  Since  the  seventies  they  had  been  ex- 
iled in  the  "  administrative  order,"  which  means 
that  any  one  suspected  of  "  political  unreliabil- 
ity "  was  sent,  after  a  more  or  less  protracted 
stay  in  prison,  to  some  remote  northern  province, 
or  to  Siberia,  for  as  many  years  as  the  Minister 
of  the  Interior,  the  chief  of  the  gendarmes,  or 
any  gendarme  general,  or  colonel  saw  fit.  This 
was  a  new  move  against  the  politicals  by  the 
all-powerful  Plehve.  The  advantage  it  offered 
was  the  possibility  of  sending  them  to  hard 
labor,  whereas  under  the  old  order  they  were 
"  only  "  exiled. 

This  departure  from  the  time-honored  "sys- 
tem "  aroused  great  interest  in  the  liberal  circles 
of  Russian  society,  particularly  among  the  mem- 
bers of  the  legal  profession.     Several  prominent 

77 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

St.  Petersburg  lawyers,  Maklakoff,  Pereverzeff, 
Kalmanovitch,  and  others,  wrote  to  the  pro- 
cureur  offering  their  services  to  us  free  of 
charge. 

At  last  copies  of  the  indictment  were  delivered 
to  us.  The  crime  with  which  I  was  charged  was 
punishable  by  from  eight  to  twelve  years'  hard 
labor.  The  main  evidence  against  me  were  my 
letters,  of  which  the  strongest  passages  were 
quoted  in  the  indictment. 

The  trial  was  set  for  October  15, 1903.  A  few 
days  before  the  trial  I  was  called  to  the  prison 
office.  Instead  of  the  gendarmes  I  had  expected 
to  meet,  I  saw  two  gentlemen  in  civilian  clothes. 
The  guard  told  them  my  name  and  went  out, 
leaving  me  alone  with  them.  This  was  the  first 
time  since  my  imprisonment  that  I  was  alone 
with  free  people,  without  the  company  of  gen- 
darmes. 

The  two  gentlemen  regarded  me  for  some  time 
in  surprise,  and  then  one  of  them  said : 

"  I  am  Maklakoff,  attomey-at-law,  and  this  is 
my  colleague,  Mr.  Ratner.  We  came  to  defend 
you.  Are  you  really  the  author  of  the  letters 
w^hich  are  quoted  in  the  indictment?  "  he  asked, 
again  looking  me  over  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  I  replied. 
78 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"How  old  were  you  when  you  wrote  those 
letters?"  asked  Mr.  Ratner. 

"  Sixteen." 

They  laughed  heartily,  and  shook  my  hands. 

"  That 's  clever,  very  clever !  "  exclaimed  Mak- 
lakoff.  "  Eight  years'  hard  labor  for  letters 
written  at  sixteen !     Fine !  " 

He  began  to  'pace  up  and  down  the  room,  some- 
what agitated.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  as  if  re- 
membering my  presence,  and  said : 

"  But  you  need  n't  worry.  We  will  see  that 
you  are  acquitted." 

"  Xo,"  I  said,  "  it  will  hardly  be  possible  to 
acquit  me.  You  know  when  I  wrote  those  let- 
ters, I  really  had  no  serious  intentions.  But 
after  they  have  kept  me  in  these  stone  walls  for 
over  nineteen  months,  my  mind  is  made  up,  and 
nothing,  nothing  can  ever  change  it.  I  hate  this 
despotic  government  with  all  the  fibers  of  my 
soul,  and  I  will  fight  it  to  the  last  drop  of  blood 
in  me.  And  I  intend  to  tell  this  openly  to  the 
czar's  court." 

They  remained  silent  for  some  time. 

"  We  understand  you,"  they  said,  "  and  this 
makes  us  wish  still  more  to  be  of  help  to  you." 

They  bade  me  good-by  in  a  very  friendly  man- 
ner and  went  away,  having  promised  to  see  me 

79 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

again  before  the  trial.  After  this  interview  a 
beautiful  bouquet  was  brought  to  me  every 
morning,  together  with  my  bread  and  water.  I 
learned  later  that  these  bouquets  were  sent  by 
my  lawyers,  who  had  obtained  special  permission 
from  the  procureur. 

At  last  the  long-awaited  day  of  the  trial  ar- 
rived. On  the  fifteenth  of  October,  early  in  the 
morning,  I  was  led  out  of  the  prison  gate.  The 
autumn  sun  greeted  me  from  a  cloudless  sky. 
The  air  was  cool  and  fragrant.  My  eyes,  which 
for  many  months  had  seen  nothing  but  gray 
walls,  bathed  in  the  green  grass.  The  open 
space  before  the  prison  fascinated  me. 

"  To  escape,"  an  inner  voice  whispered  to  me. 

A  carriage  was  waiting  near  the  gate.  I  en- 
tered it,  and  two  gendarmes  with  drawn  sabers 
took  their  seats  on  each  side  of  me.  The  car- 
riage rolled  fast  over  deserted  streets,  and  after 
a  short  ride  stopped  in  front  of  a  massive  brown- 
brick  structure.     It  was  the  court-house. 

"  Here  we  are ! "  said  one  of  the  gendarmes. 
They  led  me  into  the  prisoners'  room  and  locked 
me  in  there.  But  soon  the  door  opened,  and  the 
lawyers,  counsel  for  the  defense,  came  in  one  by 
one,  six  of  them.  They  were  more  agitated  than 
I,  because  they  already  knew  the  verdict  which 

80 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  EUSSIAN  EXILE 

had  been  ordered  by  Plehve  in  advance,  and  felt 
the  futility  of  their  efforts  to  save  us. 

At  ten  o'clock  two  gendarmes  in  brand-new 
uniforms,  with  drawn  sabers,  took  me  to  the 
court-room.  The  immense  hall  w^as  empty. 
Only  in  a  corner,  opposite  a  long  table  covered 
with  a  green  cloth,  sat  my  comrades.  Gen- 
darmes, with  drawn  sabers,  stood  in  front  and 
back  of  them,  but  before  I  reached  their  bench 
I  noticed,  amid  a  sea  of  vacant  chairs,  the  bent 
figure  of  an  old  man.  He  sat  with  his  head 
bowed  low.  "  Father ! "  The  thought  struck 
me  like  an  electric  shock.  Instantly  I  ran  to 
him,  and  before  the  gendarmes  had  time  to  re- 
cover from  their  surprise,  I  was  near  him. 
"Father,  dear!"  I  had  time  to  say.  The  trem- 
bling arms  of  my  father  were  torn  from  my  neck, 
and  the  gendarmes  led  me  to  the  prisoners' 
bench,  holding  me  fast  with  their  free  hands. 

"  The  Court  enters !  Rise !  "  called  out  the 
court  priestav  in  loud  tones. 

The  Judges  entered,  took  their  seats,  and  the 
farce  of  a  trial  began.  The  secretary  read  the 
indictment.  All  of  us  were  charged  with  having 
established  a  secret  printing-office  and  published 
the  forbidden  journal  Iskra.  I,  in  addition,  was 
charged  with  having  uttered  threats  against  the 

81 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

czar's  life.     The  usual  questions  were  asked.     In 
answer  to  the  presiding  justice's  question: 

"Do  you  acknowledge  yourself  guilty?"  I 
replied : 

"  No.  From  the  letters  it  will  become  clear 
to  you  that  I  had  no  connection  with  the  publi- 
cation of  the  Iskraj  which  is  a  Social  Democratic 
organ.  I  say  this,  not  because  I  want  to  clear 
myself,  but  because  I  am  a  convinced  Socialist- 
Revolutionist,  and  as  such  have  been  and  always 
will  be  an  enemy  of  the  existing  form  of  govern- 
ment.    I  do  not  expect  mercy  from  anybody." 

The  witnesses  gave  favorable  testimony,  with 
the  exception  of  the  official  translator  of  my 
Yiddish  letters.  He  maintained  that  one  of  my 
expressions  was,  "  I  shall  not  rest  until  I  shed 
the  blood  of  the  vampire,"  while  another  trans- 
lator, not  official,  said  that  the  sentence  read : 
"  I  shall  not  rest  until  the  blood  of  the  vampires 
is  shed."  While  admitting  that  my  Jewish  was 
poor  and  ungrammatical,  he  asserted  that  this 
particular  sentence  was  written  clearly  and  cor- 
rectly, and  that  he  had  translated  it  exactly. 
May  heaven  forgive  him !  He  was  simply  afraid 
of  the  gendarmes. 

On  the  second  day  the  speeches  of  the  prose- 
cution and  the  defense  were  made.     The  pro- 

82 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

cureur  demanded  the  maximum  sentence  of 
twelve  years'  hard  labor,  saying  there  was  no 
question  of  my  guilt,  as  I  had  acknowledged  in 
my  speech  that  I  was  a  Social  Democrat.  My 
counsel,  Mr.  Ratner,  said  in  his  speech :  ^ 

"  Private  letters  cannot  serve  as  evidence  be- 
fore any  court,  particularly  in  a  case  which 
concerns  general  idealistic  convictions.  Such 
letters  always  bear  the  stamp  of  a  subjective 
mood  and  therefore  cannot  have  the  value  of 
exact  evidence.  But  if  letters  are  to  be  believed, 
how  is  it  possible  to  pick  out  one  at  will  and  to 
discard  the  other?  to  believe  one  and  not  to  be- 
lieve the  other?  We  must  believe  Miss  Sukloff 
that  she  is  a  Socialist-Revolutionist,  and  the  re- 
peated statement  of  the  procureur  that  she  is  a 
Social  Democrat  is  utterly  incomprehensible. 
Between  the  Socialist-Revolutionists  and  the 
Social  Democrats  there  is  a  great  difference. 
.  .  .  The  labor  organ  which  Miss  Sukloff  says 
in  her  letters  she  wants  to  publish  can  by  no 
means  be  the  Iskra.  Everybody  knows  perfectly 
well  that  this  organ  is  published  abroad,  and 
was  being  issued  long  before  Miss  Sukloff  wrote 
her  letters,  consequently  she  could  not  have  in 

3  Quoted  from  the  Revolyutzionnaya  Rossiya,  the  organ  of 
the  Socialist-Revolutionists,  No.  37. 

83 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

view  the  Iskra  when  she  wrote  about  the  inten- 
tion of  herself  and  her  friends  to  issue  a 
paper.  .  .  . 

"As  regards  the  word  'vampire,'  to  consider 
it,  particularly  in  view  of  the  doubtful  con- 
scientiousness of  the  translator,  a  deliberate  in- 
tention to  commit  a  definite  terrorist  act,  is 
juridically  impossible.  It  is  simply  a  poetical 
expression  of  the  terrorist  mood  which  agitates 
now,  by  force  of  circumstances,  not  one  young 
heart  in  Russia.  Whether  it  was  wTitten  '  vam- 
pire '  or  '  vampires '  is,  after  all,  of  no  import 
to  us,  because  in  the  letter  is  expressed  only  an 
abstract  intention,  and  to  punish  for  such  in- 
tentions no  court  has  ever  attempted.  .  .  .  The 
substance  of  the  accusation  is  that  the  accused 
had  definite  opinions,  convictions,  and  general 
intentions,  and  all  this  is  quite  comprehensible, 
if  one  will  be  more  attentive  to  her  manner  of 
life.  A  worker  since  fifteen,  vivid  and  bright, 
she  ponders  over  the  strange  contrast  between 
her  own  and  her  chums'  position  on  the  one 
hand,  and  that  of,  let  us  say,  their  customers, 
while  her  own  mental  superiority  to  those  be- 
decked ladies  could  be  no  secret  to  her.  Reason- 
ing logically,  not  hampered  by  prejudices  which 
did  not  fasten  upon  her,  her  thought  came  to 

84 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

certain  conclusions.  Meeting  with  people  of 
greater  mental  development,  she,  under  their  in- 
fluence, adopted  at  first  the  Social  Democratic 
teachings;  but  her  mind,  being  of  wider  scope, 
did  not  stop  there,  and  thanks  to  her  militant 
temperament,  she,  having  become  acquainted 
with  the  views  of  the  Socialist-Revolutionists, 
joined  them,  .  .  .  We  ourselves  in  her  place 
would  undoubtedly  thirst  as  much  as  she  for 
emancipation  and  the  possibility  of  a  better  life 
for  herself  and  others.  It  must  be  noted  that, 
notwithstanding  the  specifically  Jewish  persecu- 
tion she  was  subjected  to,  the  accused  did  not 
engage  in  a  narrow-nationalistic  struggle.  She 
had  a  broader  outlook,  and  the  interests  of  all 
humanity  are  dearer  to  her.  This  is  a  talented 
nature,  responsive  to  all  good;  in  some  other 
country  she  might  have  been  happy,  but  here, 
among  us  —  alas !  This  is  not  possible.  The 
court  may,  of  course,  convict  her,  but  it  will 
hardly  be  a  triumph  of  justice;  it  will  be  another 
ill-considered,  unjust  verdict,  of  which  history 
knows  not  few." 

After  two  days  of  anxious  waiting  the  verdict 
was  announced :  We  were  sentenced  "  to  be  de- 
prived of  all  rights  and  exiled  to  Eastern  Si- 
beria for  life." 

85 


IV 


THE  thought  that  I  would  be  exiled  to  Si- 
beria did  not  frighten  me  in  the  least.  The 
desire  to  escape  from  those  odious  walls  was  so 
great  that  I  would  have  been  glad  to  be  led  not 
only  into  exile,  but  even  to  the  gallows.  But 
day  after  day,  month  after  month  went  by,  and 
I  still  sat  in  the  Odessa  prison,  whither  my  com- 
rades and  I  were  transferred  several  days  after 
the  trial,  impatiently  waiting  to  be  transported 
to  Siberia.  To  all  my  protests  and  insistent  re- 
quests to  send  me  there  the  prison  authorities 
made  one  reply : 

"We  are  awaiting  special  instructions  from 
St.  Petersburg  with  regard  to  you  and  your 
comrades." 

"  What  more  can  they  do  to  me?  "  I  frequently 
asked  myself.  A  feeling  of  rage  filled  my  heart 
more  and  more  often  as  the  months  passed,  I 
could  no  longer  speak  calmly  with  the  authori- 
ties. At  their  very  sight  my  blood  began  to 
boil. 

86 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  How  much  longer  will  you  torture  me  within 
these  walls?"  I  cried  w^henever  the  prison  gov- 
ernor appeared. 

Conflicting  rumors  about  the  war  with  Japan 
penetrated  into  our  cells,  but  they  could  not  hide 
from  us  that  Russia  was  being  defeated  by  the 
Japanese.  With  every  Japanese  victory  the 
prison  authorities  relaxed  the  severe  discipline 
more  and  more.  This  relaxation  of  the  prison 
regime,  bought  at  the  price  of  thousands  of 
Russian  people  slain  in  battle,  made  our  life  a 
little  easier.  The  hope  that  the  Japanese  might 
help  us  free  ourselves  from  the  despotic  gov- 
ernment gave  us  new  strength  to  bear  and 
wait. 

In  July,  1904,  the  minister  of  the  interior, 
Plehve,  that  pillar  of  reaction  who  had  boasted 
that  he  would  "  wipe  out  the  revolution  in  Rus- 
sia," was  killed  by  a  bomb  thrown  at  his  carriage 
by  Yegor  Sazonov,  a  member  of  the  "  Fighting 
League"  of  the  Socialist-Revolutionists'  Party. 
This  happy  news  was  brought  to  us  by  the  prison 
authorities  themselves  who  were  greatly  elated 
at  the  death  of  their  chief.  Plehve  was  cordially 
hated  not  only  by  the  people,  but  even  by  his  own 
subordinates.  The  appointment  of  Prince  Svya- 
topolk-Mirski  as  minister  of  the  interior  put  an 

87 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  EUSSIAN  EXILE 

end,  for  a  sliort  time  at  least,  to  the  sufferings 
and  hardships,  which  political  prisoners  were 
forced  to  endure. 

Soon  after  the  assassination  of  Plehve,  my 
comrades  and  I  were  unexpectedly  included  in  a 
party  of  convicts  who  were  being  exiled  to 
Eastern  Siberia.  Before  leaving  the  prison  we 
learned  what  it  meant  to  be  "  deprived  of  all 
rights  and  exiled  to  Siberia  for  life."  We  were 
summoned  to  the  office  and  told  to  put  on  convict 
garb.  The  dress  of  a  female  convict  consists  of 
a  coarse  gray  linen  shirt,  a  skirt  made  of  the 
same  material,  a  pair  of  black  koti,  or  slippers, 
with  square  linen  foot-wrappers  in  lieu  of  stock- 
ings, a  long  gray  khaldt  ^  with  a  yellow  diamond- 
shaped  patch  in  the  back  between  the  shoulders, 
and  a  gray  kerchief.  This  dress  changes  a  per- 
son beyond  recognition.  When  we  were  led 
back  to  our  cells  our  comrades  did  not  recognize 
us.  I  was  frightened  by  my  own  reflection  in 
the  mirror  when  I  saw  myself  in  this  garb  for  the 
first  time.  There  is  something  terribly  degrad- 
ing in  it. 

"  What  have  I  done?  what  have  I  done?  "  I 
repeated  in  great  agitation.  I  paced  my  cell, 
with  difficulty  dragging  my  feet  dressed  in  enor- 

1  Overcoat. 

88 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

mous,  ugly  koti.  And  the  feeling  of  hatred  to- 
ward my  oppressors  grew  in  my  heart  and  I 
could  not  overcome  it. 

On  the  next  morning  my  comrades  and  I  were 
lined  up  with  a  party  of  convicts  who  were  be- 
ing transported  to  Siberia  for  robbery  and  mur- 
der. Our  wrists  were  chained  to  theirs,  and  in 
this  fashion  we  were  marched  four  abreast,  in 
the  middle  of  the  dusty  road,  to  the  railroad  sta- 
tion. 

For  the  last  time  I  looked  at  the  big  city  to 
which  I  had  come  in  quest  of  knowledge  and  hap- 
piness. 

"  Oh  God !  "  I  thought  to  myself,  "  I  left  my 
father  and  mother,  sisters  and  brothers;  I  left 
my  native  fields,  and  came  to  this  great  city  to 
find  the  key  to  a  better  life:  and  this  is  what  I 
found!" 

"  Farewell,  farewell,  my  native  land  .  .  ."  be- 
gan the  prisoners  in  a  chorus  when  the  train 
started.  Their  plaintive  tones  accompanied  by 
the  jingling  of  the  chains  made  an  indelible  im- 
pression upon  me. 

The  convict  car  was  filthy  and  crowded  to  its 
utmost  capacity.  The  prisoners  were  making 
themselves  comfortable,  and  their  familiarity 
with  the  surroundings  suggested  to  me  that  they 

89 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

were  not  making  this  dreadful  journey  for  the 
first  time. 

The  stdrosta,  or  head-man,  elected  by  the  con- 
victs figured  out  with  the  help  of  the  under- 
oflQcer  of  the  convoy  the  amount  of  hoxmoviye  ^ 
for  the  party.  Ten  kopecks  was  the  sum  a  con- 
vict received  for  his  daily  subsistence.  For  this 
money  one  could  buy  on  the  road  one  and  one- 
half  pounds  of  bread.  But  peasant  women  meet 
the  trains,  especially  in  Siberia,  and  give  alms  to 
the  hungry,  unfortunate  convicts  —  bread,  milk, 
pies,  and  other  eatables. 

After  an  agonizing  ride  which  lasted  about 
two  days,  we  arrived  in  Kief.  There  we  were 
placed  in  the  forwarding  prison.  A  forwarding 
prison  differs  from  a  regular  one  in  that  the 
former  is,  in  most  cases,  wholly  unfurnished, 
and  the  only  article  a  cell  contains  is  a  large 
wooden  tub  called  pardsha.  We  slept  on  the 
dirty  floor  with  nothing  under  us  but  our  over- 
coats. 

For  two  days  we  were  kept  there,  and  were  not 
even  let  out  for  the  daily  walk.  There  were 
fifty  people  in  our  kdmera,^  twenty-five  women 
and  as  many  children.  Some  of  the  children 
became  sick,  and  their  unhappy  parents  lived  in 

2  Provision-money.  »  Cell. 

90 


O     -y. 


o 


CD       _ 
r,      — 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

constant  fear  that  they  would  die  from  lack  of 
pure  air.  Mrs.  Orloff  begged  the  prison  gover- 
nor to  permit  her  to  take  her  sick  child  out  in  the 
yard  for  a  few  minutes,  but  his  only  answer  to 
the  distracted  mother  was : 

"  Peresylni  "*  are  not  supposed  to  be  let  out  for 
a  walk  in  the  forwarding  prison.  To-morrow 
you  will  leave  here." 

From  Kief  we  were  taken  to  Kursk,  and  after 
spending  two  days  in  the  forwarding  prison  went 
on  to  Voronezh.  And  thus  changing  from  the 
crowded  convict  car  to  the  forwarding  prison 
and  from  the  forwarding  prison  to  the  convict 
car,  and  stopping  in  every  large  city,  we  finally 
crossed  the  Urals  and  reached  the  town  of  Tyu- 
men, in  Siberia,  after  three  weeks'  travel.  The 
Tyumen  forwarding  prison  is  located  at  a  great 
distance  from  the  city,  and  the  muddy  road  over 
which  we  were  marched  came  near  becoming  a 
grave-yard  for  some  of  us. 

George  Kennan,  the  well-kno^^Ti  American 
writer,  describes  this  prison  in  these  words :  ^ 

"  I  looked  around  the  cell.  There  was  prac- 
tically no  ventilation  whatever,  and  the  air  was 
so  poisoned  and  foul  that  I  could  hardly  force 

■*  C!onvicts  who  are  being  transported. 

B  Siberia  and  the  Exile  System,  Vol.  I,  p.  87. 

93 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  KUSSIAN  EXILE 

myself  to  breathe  it.  We  visited  successively  in 
the  yard  six  k^meras,  or  cells,  essentially  like 
the  first,  and  found  in  every  one  of  them  three  or 
four  times  the  number  of  prisoners  for  which  it 
was  intended,  and  five  or  six  times  the  number 
for  which  it  had  adequate  air  space.  In  most  of 
the  cells  there  was  not  room  enough  on  the  sleep- 
ing-platforms for  all  the  convicts,  and  scores  of 
men  slept  every  night  on  the  foul,  muddy  floors, 
under  the  nari/  and  in  the  gangways  between 
them  and  the  w^alls.  .  .  ." 

In  these  germ-infested  barracks  we  were  kept 
for  three  long  months.  Typhus  fever  and  other 
epidemic  diseases  carried  off  two  or  three  people 
every  day,  and  we  escaped  death  only  through 
some  miracle. 

Winter  had  already  set  in  when  we  started  out 
again.  In  a  blinding  snow-storm  we  were  lined 
up  by  the  soldiers  of  the  convoy,  and  began  our 
journey  to  Krasnoyarsk.  The  convict  car  was 
even  more  filthy  and  crowded  than  in  European 
Eussia.  The  severe  Siberian  frosts  did  not  add 
to  our  comforts.  There  were  the  usual  stops  for 
a  day  or  two  in  a  forwarding  prison,  and  march- 
ing to  and  fro,  in  half-torn  shoes,  over  roads  cov- 
ered with  ice  and  snow. 
6  Sleeping-platforms. 

9^ 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Tormented  with  hunger  and  cold,  exhausted 
by  the  hardships  of  Siberian  travel  in  winter, 
and  extremely  fatigued  we  dragged  ourselves 
into  the  forwarding  prison  at  Krasnoyarsk  after 
sixteen  days  of  travel.  Here  at  last  we  learned 
to  which  places  we  were  to  be  banished. 

One  morning  the  prison  governor  brought  in  a 
bundle  of  official  papers.  These  contained  our 
several  destinations.  To  my  inexpressible  ter- 
ror I  was  to  be  sent  alone  to  the  village  of  Alek- 
sandrovskoye,  in  the  province  of  Yeniseisk,  about 
three  thousand  miles  from  my  native  province  of 
Vilna.  I  stood  before  the  governor,  listened  to 
his  words,  but  could  not  believe  that  I  was  to 
be  parted  from  my  friends,  taken  to  a  remote, 
lonely  village,  and  left  there  to  pass  my  days 
alone. 

"  How  is  that?  how  is  that?  "  I  kept  repeating 
the  meaningless  words,  knowing  perfectly  well 
that  the  governor  had  nothing  to  do  with  desig- 
nating the  place  of  exile  and  could  not  change 
anything. 

From  Krasnoyarsk  we  were  taken  to  Kansk. 
The  Kansk  forwarding  prison,  which  was  the 
last  t'tape  of  our  memorable  journey  together,  al- 
most became  the  grave  of  the  whole  party.  We 
came  to  the  prison  in  the  evening.     The  barrack 

95 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

in  which  we  were  placed  had  evidently  not  been 
heated  for  a  long  time,  as  ice  and  snow  lay  on 
the  floor  all  along  the  walls.  We  asked  the 
head-keeper  for  some  wood,  and  made  a  fire  in 
the  stove.  After  the  fire  had  burned  out,  we 
closed  the  chimney  and  went  to  sleep.  At  night 
a  child  began  to  cry.  Some  of  us  heard  his 
cries,  but  could  not  move  from  our  places.  At- 
tracted by  the  child's  cries,  a  keeper  came  and 
called  to  us,  but  seeing  that  we  did  not  respond, 
opened  the  door.  Then  he  understood  the  cause 
of  our  silence.  The  cell  was  filled  Tvith  fumes 
of  charcoal,  and  we  all  lay  in  a  stupor.  He  im- 
mediately summoned  a  number  of  soldiers  who 
carried  us  out  on  the  snow  and  rendered  first 
aid.  As  soon  as  we  had  fully  recovered  we  were 
taken  to  our  respective  destinations.  The  Or- 
loffs  were  sent  to  the  village  of  Ribinskoye,  in 
the  province  of  Yeniseisk,  about  thirty  miles 
from  Aleksandrovskoye.  They  went  first. 
Then  two  guards  came  and  took  me. 

From  Kansk  we  had  to  travel  on  foot.  Before 
starting  the  exiles  on  their  march  the  prison 
doctor  examines  them,  and  if  any  are  found  to  be 
weak  or  infirm  telyegas  '^  are  provided  for  them 
to  ride  in.  To  my  great  luck  the  doctor  decided 
7  Springless  wooden  carts. 

96 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

that  I  was  too  sick  to  walk,  and  I  was  allowed  to 
ride  in  a  cart. 

Two  guards  escorted  me  to  the  first  6tape  and 
delivered  me  under  signature  to  the  uryddnik.^ 
The  ury^dnik  summoned  the  head-man  of  the 
village  and  ordered  him  to  procure  a  horse. 
After  a  long  dispute  the  peasants  found  an  old 
nag,  and  I,  under  the  escort  of  the  village 
constable,  proceeded  to  Aleksandrovskoye.  In 
every  settlement  which  we  passed  on  the  way 
the  peasants,  and  particularly  the  women,  re- 
garded me  very  curiously.  On  learning  that  I 
was  an  exile  they  fed  me,  and  in  one  village  the 
women  even  gave  me  a  pair  of  high  felt  boots, 
as  I  suffered  terribly  from  the  extreme  and  con- 
tinuous cold. 

Finally  we  arrived  at  the  volost,  or  rural  dis- 
trict, to  which  Aleksandrovskoye  belonged. 
Here  the  uryadnik  and  the  volost  scribe  opened 
the  papers  which  the  constable  had  carried  all 
the  time  in  a  sealed  envelope. 

"  There  are  special  instructions  with  reference 
to  you,"  said  the  scribe  to  me. 

"  What  are  those  special  instructions? "  I 
asked. 

"  It  is  stated  here  that  you  are  a  political  of- 

8  Chief  of  village  police. 

99 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

fender  and  must  be  guarded  very  closely,"  he  re- 
plied. 

I  slept  that  night  at  the  scribe's  house,  and  on 
the  next  day  he  took  me  to  the  village  of  Alek- 
sandrovskoye,  which  was  about  eighteen  miles 
from  the  v61ost.  The  village  consisted  of  per- 
haps thirty  huts,  and  was  inhabited  mostly  by 
Russian  colonists.  At  the  house  of  the  std- 
rosta/  to  which  I  was  first  taken  by  the  scribe, 
women  and  peasants  gathered  and  began  to  con- 
sider what  should  be  done  with  me.  The  women, 
folding  their  arms  on  their  breasts,  stood  shak- 
ing their  heads  compassionately  and  saying  in 
melancholy  tones : 

"  Poor  girl,  poor  girl !  Your  parents  must 
have  shed  bitter  tears  when  you  were  taken  from 
them  in  such  tender  years." 

Some  of  them  offered  to  take  me  to  their 
homes.  One  old  peasant  who  stood  thoughtfully 
striking  his  long,  white  beard  thus  settled  his 
doubts : 

"  It  means,  then,  that  she  was  sent  to  us  for 
life  and  we  may  do  with  her  whatever  we  want. 
Did  I  understand  you  rightly  ?  "  He  turned  to 
the  scribe  who  was  explaining  to  the  peasants 
how  to  treat  me. 

9  Head-man. 

100 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

At  last,  after  a  long  discussion,  it  was  decided 
that  I  would  stay  at  the  house  of  the  church 
watchman.  The  uryadnik  ordered  the  constable 
to  come  every  morning  to  my  house  to  see  if  I  was 
still  there.     At  parting  he  warned  the  peasants : 

"  Remember  that  you  are  all  responsible  for 
her." 

The  peasants  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and 
in  a  body  led  me  to  the  house  of  the  church 
watchman. 

Yet  for  a  long  while  the  women  continued 
their  expressions  of  sympathy  and  shed  tears, 
repeating,  "  You  poor,  unfortunate  orphan,"  be- 
fore I  was  finally  left  alone.  When  they  cried 
and  called  me  "  orphan  "  I  really  felt  that  I  was 
alone,  alone  in  this  whole  great  world.  I  sat 
helplessly  looking  about  myself,  and  a  feeling 
of  pity  for  myself  filled  my  heart.  But  the  im- 
mediate environment  did  not  give  these  feelings 
a  chance  to  grow.  The  people  would  not  let  me 
rest  for  a  minute. 

My  host,  an  old  man  white  as  snow,  soon  came 
in  and  asked  me : . 

"  Can  you  read?  " 

After  receiving  an  affirmative  reply,  he  ex- 
tracted a  letter  from  his  pocket.  It  was  from 
his  son,  a  soldier  in  the  Manchurian  army. 

101 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

The  news  that  I  could  read  traveled  fast.  All 
the  peasants  gathered  all  printed  and  written 
matter  they  could  find  in  the  village  and  brought 
me  to  read  to  them.  They  surrounded  me  on  all 
sides  and  listened  to  me  with  respectful  atten- 
tion. The  desire  to  know  about  the  war  with 
Japan  was  not  mere  curiosity  on  the  part  of  the 
illiterate  peasants.  They  had  a  blood  interest  in 
it,  as  nearly  every  one  of  them  had  a  son,  a  hus- 
band or  a  brother  on  the  battlefield,  from  whom 
they  had  not  received  word  for  months,  and  de- 
spaired of  ever  hearing  from  them. 

On  the  morrow  the  women  came  to  me  carry- 
ing bowls  of  milk,  plates  of  butter,  and  various 
other  gifts,  and  begged  me  to  write  to  their  sons 
and  husbands.  Listening  to  the  tales  of  woe  of 
these  old  mothers  and  young  wives,  who  desper- 
ately clung  to  the  last  hope  that  their  loved  ones 
had  not  been  killed,  but  only  wounded  and 
crippled  for  life;  looking  at  the  little  orphans 
who  already  knew  that  they  were  to  see  their 
fathers  no  more,  I  forgot  my  own  grief  and 
thought  only  of  what  I  should  do  to  lighten  their 
terrible  burden.  But  to  my  great  sorrow  I  had 
no  means  of  being  useful  to  them,  and  all  I  could 
do  was  to  write  letters  to  people  whom  I  believed 
to  be  dead. 

102 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

A  few  days  after  my  arrival  the  village  priest 
came  to  see  me.  He  was  a  robust  man  of  a  very 
cheerful  disposition  and  liked  to  drink  a  great 
deal.     He  spoke  to  me  in  a  fatherly  manner. 

"  Only  do  not  get  discouraged.  There  is  noth- 
ing eternal  in  this  world,"  he  said  in  answer  to 
my  statement  that  I  had  been  sent  there,  not  for 
a  term  of  years,  but  for  life.  "  My  daughter  is 
going  to  be  married,"  he  continued,  "  and  there 
is  no  one  here  to  make  dresses  for  her,  so  you 
had  better  come  to  live  with  us  and  help  her  with 
the  sewing." 

I  consented,  as  I  was  very  glad  to  do  some- 
thing to  earn  my  bread. 

II 

I  was  no  longer  in  prison,  I  saw  no  more  the 
prison  walls,  but  I  did  not  feel  myself  free.  The 
purposeless  life  in  a  remote  Siberian  village 
seemed  to  me  worse  than  a  prison.  The  peas- 
ants, together  with  the  priest,  drank  for  two 
or  three  days  during  the  week.  They  spent  all 
their  money  at  the  Government  liquor  shop,  and 
when  they  had  no  ready  cash  they  pawned  any- 
thing they  could  conveniently  carry  out  of  the 
house.  It  seemed  that  only  the  vodka  gave  them 
the  possibility  of  forgetting  the  miseries  of  their 

103 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

wretclied  existence.  In  those  "  drunken  "  days 
I  hid  myself  in  some  corner  that  no  one  might 
see  me,  and  sat  looking  at  the  heaps  of  snow 
which  separated  me  from  the  rest  of  the  living. 

"  You  must  escape,  you  must  escape  from 
here,"  an  inner  voice  grew  more  and  more  in- 
sistent within  me. 

The  scribe,  the  uryddnik,  and  the  constable 
were  the  only  people  supposed  to  keep  watch 
over  me,  and  they  seemed  neglectful  of  their  re- 
sponsibility. They  may  have  supposed  that  the 
dense  forest  which  surrounded  the  village  was 
the  best  guard. 

"  To  escape,  to  escape,"  I  repeated  to  myself 
in  the  long,  sleepless  nights,  staring  into  the 
darkness  and  making  plans,  each  one  more  fan- 
tastic than  the  other. 

In  the  meantime  the  news  of  the  "  Bloody  Sun- 
day "  reached  our  village.  With  trembling 
hands  I  held  the  paper  and  read  to  the  peasants 
how  the  working-men  of  St.  Petersburg,  led  by 
Father  Gapon,  had  gone  to  petition  their  Czar 
to  better  their  conditions  of  life;  how  they  had 
marched  with  their  wives  and  children,  carrying 
icons  and  the  portrait  of  the  Emperor,  and  sing- 
ing patriotic  hymns;  how  they  had  suddenly, 
without  warning,  been  shot  dowTi,  trampled  by 

104 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Cossack  horses,  and  beaten  with  sabers  and 
nagdikas;  ^°  how  the  streets  of  St.  Petersburg  had 
been  turned  into  a  battlefield  where  hundreds 
of  dead  and  dying  lay.  .  .  .  Here  the  peasants 
stopped  me. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  they  asked,  "  that  the  czar, 
in  whom  we  believe,  could  do  that?  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  he  it  is  who  takes  our  children  and 
sends  them  to  the  Japanese  to  be  killed?  Is  it 
possible  that  he  does  all  this,  and  not  his  minis- 
ters? " 

They  took  the  paper  from  me,  turned  it  in 
their  hands,  and  made  me  read  it  all  over  again, 
from  the  beginning.  On  that  day  their  faith 
in  the  czar  was  shattered,  and  they  openly 
shoAved  their  sympathy  with  me,  a  direct  victim 
of  his  despotic  rule. 

To  me  the  fact  that  the  St.  Petersburg  work- 
ing-men had  gone  to  petition  the  czar  for  a  bet- 
ter life  had  another  significance.  I  saw  in  it 
the  awakening  of  the  toiling  masses,  and  re- 
garded it  as  the  fore-runner  of  that  great  revo- 
lution which  was  to  shake  the  throne  from  its 
foundation. 

"  It  can  not  be  that  the  blood  of  the  innocent 
children  slain  in  the  streets  of  St.  Petersburg  on 

10  Cossack  whips. 

105 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

the  ninth  of  January  should  remain  unavenged," 
I  thought.  I  saw  that  the  Russian  people  could 
no  longer  suffer  the  yoke  of  czarism,  that  Russia 
must  be  free,  and  I  firmly  decided  to  escape  and 
join,  weapon  in  hand,  in  the  great  struggle  to- 
wards liberty  and  justice  for  my  oppressed  and 
down-trodden  country. 

Ill 

The  volost  scribe  was  an  intelligent  and  kind 
man,  and  he  openly  showed  his  sympathy  with 
me.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  ask  him  to  get  from 
the  uryddnik  permission  for  me  to  go  to  Kansk. 
I  hoped  to  find  there  comrades  who  would  help 
me  with  money  and  a  passport. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  scribe  in  answer  to  my  re- 
quest, "  I  can  get  for  you  the  desired  permission. 
But  if  you  should  run  away  the  responsibility 
would  fall  upon  me,  because  I  am  sure  the 
ury^dnik  will  prove  in  some  way  or  other  that 
I  conspired  with  you.  You  know  that  I  am  the 
father  of  four  children,"  he  went  on,  "  but  if  you 
give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  you  will  re- 
turn, I  will  persuade  the  uryadnik  to  let  you  go 
to  Kansk  for  a  few  days." 

His  proposal  was  difficult  for  me  to  accept. 
If  I  should  give  him  my  word  of  honor  I  would 

106 


-.      « 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

have  to  return,  and  my  only  aim  in  asking  for 
leave  was  to  escape.  For  two  days  I  went  about 
trying  to  find  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty,  but 
finally  decided  to  agree  to  his  condition.  It  was 
absolutely  necessary  to  go  to  Kansk  and  procure 
money  and  a  passport,  without  which  I  could  not 
even  think  of  escaping. 

We  went  to  the  ury^dnik,  and  after  consider- 
able questioning  he  consented  to  let  me  go  to 
Kansk  for  a  few  days. 

On  the  first  of  February,  1905,  I  left  the  vil- 
lage, riding  in  the  cart  of  a  peasant  who  was 
going  to  town  on  business.  I  had  no  addresses, 
and  did  not  even  know  if  there  were  any  political 
exiles  in  Kansk.  The  peasants  of  Aleksandrov- 
skoye  had  assured  me  that  there  were  many 
"  nobles  "  there.  As  I  found  later,  the  politicals 
were  known  there  as  "  nobles." 

After  two  days'  travel  we  reached  Kansk. 
For  the  sum  of  two  kopecks  a  ragged  boy  drove 
me  to  the  blacksmith's  shop.  A  tall  man  in  a 
blue  blouse,  his  hands  and  face  covered  with 
soot,  greeted  me  T\ith  a  cordial  smile.  I  told 
him  my  name,  and  he  led  me  to  his  house.  There 
I  was  met  by  a  pale,  frail-looking  young  woman 
who  held  a  sickly  baby  wrapped  in  rags.  Hav- 
ing overcome  the  feeling  of  embarrassment  I  ex- 

109 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

perienced  at  the  sight  of  their  wretched  poverty, 
I  told  them  the  object  of  my  visit. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Mr.  M ,  the  black- 
smith, "  but  I  don't  think  you  will  get  anything 
in  this  town.  There  are  only  six  politicals  here, 
and  they  are  all  starving.  The  only  thing  we 
can  do  for  you  is  to  give  you  letters  of  recom- 
mendation to  our  Irkutsk  people.  There  are  a 
great  many  of  them  there,  and  they  will  surely 
help  you." 

A  few  hours  later  the  whole  exile  colony  of 

Kansk   gathered  at   the  house   of   Mr.   M . 

They  held  a  consultation  and  decided  that  I  must 
go  directly  to  Irkutsk.  They  bought  me  a  rail- 
road ticket  to  that  city  out  of  their  last  money, 
and  that  very  evening  I  boarded  a  train,  candying 
in  my  pocket  a  letter  of  recommendation.  As  I 
was  dressed  in  a  mixture  of  civil  and  convict 
garb,  the  passengers  stared  at  me,  and  I  did  not 
feel  quite  at  ease. 

After  two  days'  travel  I  came  to  Irkutsk. 
When  the  cab  stopped  in  front  of  a  rich  house 
on  the  main  street  of  the  city  I  hesitated  for  a 
few  seconds.  "  What  if  they  "vsill  not  let  me 
in?  "  I  rang  the  bell.  A  beautiful  young  girl 
opened  the  door.  I  handed  her  the  letter  of 
recommendation,  and  she  invited  me  to  sit  in  the 

110 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

waiting-room.  Directly  an  old  man  of  short 
stature  entered.  He  asked  me  who  I  was  and 
what  I  wanted.  Having  convinced  himself  that 
I  really  was  the  person  I  claimed  to  be,  he  shook 
my  hand  and  invited  me  to  meet  his  wife  and 
children. 

This  man,  Mr.  K ,  was  an  old  revolutionist, 

exiled  to  Irkutsk  many  years  before.  But  not- 
withstanding his  "  past "  he  now  held  a  high 
Government  position.  That  same  day  he  handed 
me  a  hundred  rubles  and  a  passport  on  which 
he  wrote  in  his  own  hand  that  I  was  a  "mer- 
chant's daughter."  Such  a  passport  was  as 
good  as  a  real  one  in  Siberia,  because  the  pries- 
tavs  and  the  ury^dniks  who  endorse  them  are  so 
ignorant  that  they  can  hardly   read  Russian. 

Mrs.   K helped  me  put  on  her  daughter's 

clothes,  and  presented  a  watch  to  me.  In  short, 
I  was  made  unrecognizable. 

It  was  necessary  to  return  to  Aleksandrov- 
skoye.  I  knew  that  the  scribe  would  feel  un- 
easy about  my  long  absence.  I  did  not  want  to 
think  how  I  would  escape  after  my  return: 
the  difficulties  seemed  insurmountable,  but  I 
had  given  my  word  of  honor,  and  had  to  re- 
turn. 

With  sorrow  in  my  heart  I  bade  good-by  to 
111 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

those  kind  people.     One  of  Mr.  K 's  sons  went 

with  me  to  Kansk,  as  they  were  afraid  that  I 
might  be  arrested  on  the  road. 

In  the  railway  compartment  —  we  traveled  in 
the  second-class  —  were  two  army  officei*s.  They 
made  friends  with  my  companion  and  treated 
him  to  vodka  and  cigars.  There  was  nothing  in 
their  appearance  to  arouse  our  suspicions. 

When  night  came  I  lay  down  on  my  cot.  I 
could  not  sleep.  The  thought  that  I  was  going 
back  to  that  lonely  village  would  not  let  me 
rest.  Suddenly  I  felt  that  somebody  was  tug- 
ging at  the  chain  which  supported  my  watch. 
I  opened  my  eyes,  and  to  my  great  terror  saw  the 
same  officer  who  had  been  so  amiable  vdth  me 
several  hours  before.  In  one  hand  he  held  my 
bag  which  contained  the  hundred  rubles  and  the 
passport.  I  emitted  a  terrible  shriek.  The  offi- 
cer seized  me  by  the  throat,  and  began  to  choke 
me.     I  became  unconscious.  .  .  . 

When  I  had  regained  consciousness  my  first 
thought  was  that  the  money  and  passport  were 
gone.  I  heard  people  talking  near  me,  but  had 
no  desire  to  look  at  them. 

"Why  didn't  they  let  me  die?"  I  thought. 
"What  will  I  do  without  the  money  and  the 
passport?" 

112 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

I  could  not  move  my  head,  and  the  fingers  still 
seemed  to  be  choking  me. 

At  the  first  station  I  was  carried  into  the 
gendarme  office.  The  two  officers  were  already 
there.  They  turned  out  to  be  escaped  Sakhalien 
convicts  masquerading  as  army  officers. 

"  Why  did  you  want  to  kill  me?  "  I  asked  my 
assailant.  "  Did  n't  you  see  that  I  am  not 
rich?" 

"  Why  did  you  cry  out?  "  was  his  reply.  "  I 
had  to  save  myself.  After  all  I  did  not  choke 
you  to  death." 

The  bag  with  the  money  and  the  passport  was 

returned  to  me.     I  owed  my  life  to  Mr.  K 's 

son,  who  was  the  first  to  reach  my  side  when  the 
robber  choked  me. 

After  an  absence  of  ten  days  I  returned  to 
Aleksandrovskoye.  The  scribe  and  the  urydd- 
nik  were  delighted  to  see  me. 

"  And  we  already  thought  that  you  would  not 
come  back,"  said  the  uryddnik,  smiling. 

IV 

The  question  how  to  escape  did  not  leave  me 
for  a  moment.  The  only  people  from  whom  I 
hoped  to  get  the  necessary  information  were  the 
Orloffs,  who  lived  in  the  village  of  Ribinskoye, 

113 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

the  nearest  to  ours,  and  I  decided  to  make  my 
way  in  that  direction.  I  was  afraid  to  ask  the 
peasants  for  aid,  notwithstanding  their  sympa- 
thetic attitude.  Besides,  I  knew  that  if  the 
authorities  found  out  that  somebody  had  driven 
me  to  Ribinskoye  the  poor  peasants  would  be 
held  responsible  for  my  escape.  There  was  one 
way  left  to  me,  and  that  was  to  walk  the  distance 
of  twenty-eight  miles  which  separated  the  two 
villages.  The  road  to  Ribinskoye  I  knew  well 
enough. 

On  the  second  day  after  my  return  from  Ir- 
kutsk I  got  up  at  daybreak,  dressed  as  warmly 
as  I  could,  and  with  a  few  pieces  of  bread  tied  in 
a  handkerchief  set  out  in  the  direction  of  Rib- 
inskoye. The  whole  village  was  fast  asleep,  but 
the  very  huts  seemed  to  watch  my  steps.  Every 
sound  made  my  heart  beat  faster,  and  I  looked 
around  expecting  to  see  somebody  running  in 
pursuit.  Soon  I  came  to  the  end  of  the  village. 
The  smooth,  silvery  road  stretched  before  me.  I 
straightened  up,  drew  a  full  breath  of  clear, 
frosty  air,  and  quickened  my  pace.  My  fear 
had  disappeared.  Calmly  I  looked  at  the  snow- 
covered  forest  which  stood  on  both  sides  of  the 
road,  and  I  walked  faster  and  faster,  dreaming 
of  freedom  for  myself  and  my  country. 

114 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OP  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

I  don't  know  how  long  I  walked  thus.  I  only 
remember  that  a  sharp  pang  of  hunger  inter- 
rupted my  dreams,  and  I  began  to  consume  one 
piece  of  bread  after  another,  without  slackening 
my  pace.  Suddenly  I  heard  the  clatter  of 
horse's  hoofs  behind  me.  Without  stopping  to 
think  for  a  second,  I  turned  to  the  forest,  but  the 
sleigh  was  near  me  before  I  had  time  to  get  under 
the  cover  of  the  trees. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  a  voice  called  to  me. 
I  turned  around.  It  was  a  peasant  who  lived 
in  a  neighboring  village.     He  knew   me  well. 

"  I  am  going  to  Ribinskoye,"  I  replied  indif- 
ferently, "  and  have  no  money  to  hire  a  sleigh." 

"  Get  in,"  he  said.  "  I  am  going  there,  too, 
and  will  give  you  a  lift." 

A  few  hours  later  I  was  at  the  house  of  the 
Orloffs.  The  tiny  arms  of  their  child  em- 
braced me. 

"  I  won't  let  yo^i  go  away  from  us  no  more," 
he  said,  patting  my  cheek. 

The  cold  in  the  house  was  fearful.  The 
wretched  poverty  in  which  the  Orloffs  lived  as- 
tonished even  me.  A  rickety  table,  two  broken 
chairs,  and  an  ancient  wooden  bed  which 
squeaked  and  lurched  every  time  one  sat  down 
on  it  made  up  all  their  possessions. 

115 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

When  I  told  them  that  I  had  decided  to  escape 
they  were  glad  for  me. 

"  I  don't  see  how  we  can  live  here,"  said  Mrs. 
Orlofif.  "  The  child  is  growing ;  he  will  soon  be 
three  years  old.  We  can  not  earn  anything  here. 
The  money  which  I  get  from  home  is  hardly 
sufficient  to  pay  rent  and  buy  fire-wood." 

She  looked  haggard  and  worn,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  tuberculosis  had  already  laid  its 
stamp  on  her  beautiful  face. 

Mr.  Orloff  hastened  to  change  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  now,  after  the  '  Bloody  Sun- 
day,' we  must  give  up  the  delusion  that  we  can 
bring  about  better  conditions  by  peaceful  propa- 
ganda. We  must  fight  tyranny  with  its  own 
weapons.  Such  outrages  of  the  Government  can 
be  responded  to  only  by  bombs  and  bullets.  Eh, 
if  we  could  only  get  out  of  here !  " 

He  paced  the  room,  hardly  able  to  control  his 
emotion. 

"  How  can  you  escape  with  the  child?  "  I  said. 
"  You  will  be  recognized  immediately." 

"  Yes,  this  is  the  only  thing  which  keeps  us 
back,"  answered  Orloff  dejectedly. 

I  looked  sorrowfully  at  these  young  people 
who  were  deprived  of  everything  in  life  and 

116 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

whose  only  child  hindered  them  from  making 
an  attempt  to  regain  their  freedom.  A  slow 
death  from  hunger  and  cold  awaited  them.  I 
looked  at  the  innocent  little  child  who  was 
slowly  wasting  away  before  the  very  eyes  of  his 
parents,  and  a  happy  thought  struck  me. 

"Listen,"  I  turned  to  the  Orloffs.  "I  will 
take  your  child  with  me,  and  you  will  escape 
later.  The  police  will  look  for  me  alone  and  for 
you  with  a  child,  and  this  change  of  parts  will 
save  us  all." 

For  a  moment  their  sad  faces  brightened  with 
hope. 

"  Boria,"  I  said  to  the  boy,  "  do  you  want  to 
go  to  Grandma  with  me?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  he  replied  with  a  determined 
look.  "I  shall , go,  and  Mamma  shall  go,  and 
Papa  shall  go.  I  don't  want  to  be  here ;  it 's 
cold  here." 

In  a  few  hours  the  affair  was  settled.  I  was 
to  take  the  child  to  its  grandparents  in  Vilna, 
and  the  Orloffs  were  to  escape  after  receiving 
word  from  me  that  everything  was  "  all  right." 

In  the  evening  Mr.  Orloff  found  a  peasant 
who  agreed  to  drive  me  to  the  next  village,  a 
distance  of  forty  miles,  for  three  rubles.  The 
following  day  we  spent  in  making  warm  clothes 

:117 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

for  the  child  and  preparing  for  the  long  journey. 
As  soon  as  it  grew  dark  the  driver  came  to  call 
me. 

The  mother  embraced  her  child  and  me  for  the 
last  time. 

"  I  entrust  him  to  you,"  she  said,  weeping  bit- 
terly.    "  He  is  all  I  have  in  this  life." 

'^  Mdmotclika,  don't  cry.  I  don't  want  you  to 
cry.  Better  come  with  me  to  Grandma.  I  don't 
want  to  leave  you  here." 

He  brought  his  mother's  coat  and  tried  to  put 
it  on  her. 

"  Hurry  up,  hurry  up,"  urged  the  driver.  Mr. 
Orloff  took  the  child  in  his  arms,  kissed  his  weep- 
ing \\dfe,  and  we  went  out.  The  night  w^as  still 
and  cold.  Heaps  of  snow  covered  the  ground. 
We  walked  rapidly,  and  the  frost  squeaked  un- 
der our  feet.  At  the  end  of  the  village  stood  our 
sleigh.  The  horses  impatiently  dug  the  snow 
with  their  hoofs.  I  sat  down,  Mr.  Orloff  put 
the  child  in  my  lap,  kissed  him  once  more,  gave 
my  hand  a  tight  squeeze,  and  we  started. 

The  sleigh  glided  swiftly  over  the  smooth  road. 
The  horses  ran,  and  the  driver  hummed  a  tune. 
I  pressed  the  child  in  my  bosom,  and  listened 
to  his  regular  breathing.  Soon  the  driver  got 
out  of  the  sleigh  and  ran  alongside  the  horses 

118 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

trying  to  warm  himself.     I  did  not  move,  being 
afraid  to  disturb  the  child,  who  was  sound  asleep. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  arrived  in 
the  village,  and  knocked  on  the  door  of  a  peasant 
hut.  We  were  admitted.  To  all  questions 
where  I  came  from  and  where  I  was  going,  I  re- 
plied in  a  plaintive  voice  that  the  child  had  been 
left  an  orphan  and  I  was  taking  him  to  his  grand- 
parents in  Russia. 

After  an  hour's  stay  in  the  hut,  during  which  I 
warmed  my  frozen  limbs  and  fed  the  child,  I 
decided  to  go  farther.  My  plan  was  to  drive  as 
far  as  Krasnoyarsk,  to  hide  in  that  city  so  long 
as  it  was  necessary  for  the  hue  and  cry  caused 
by  my  escape  to  subside,  and  then  proceed  to 
Vilna  by  railroad.  My  host  readily  consented 
to  take  me  to  the  next  village. 

"  Give  three  rubles,  and  I'll  drive  fast,"  he 
said. 

At  six  o'clock  I  sat  again  \dth  the  child  In 
my  lap,  and  we  renewed  our  journey  over  the 
endless  road  which  ran  through  the  Siberian 
taiga. '^^  In  the  afternoon  we  came  to  the  vil- 
lage. From  there  an  old  peasant  drove  me  far- 
ther. He  charged  me  only  one  ruble,  saying 
that  I  was  going  far  and  needed  the  money. 
11  Forest. 

119 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

For  two  days  and  three  nights  we  rode  thus, 
stopping  only  to  warm  ourselves  and  change 
horses.  I  hardly  slept  all  this  time.  Sitting 
in  the  sleigh  and  listening  to  the  roar  of  the 
wind  in  the  taiga  I  wondered  if  we  would  ever 
reach  Krasnoyarsk  alive. 

In  the  morning  of  the  third  day  the  child  be- 
came sick.  He  cried,  and  complained  of  pain  in 
his  body.  The  severe  cold,  lack  of  warm  food, 
and  constant  sitting  in  the  sleigh  had  proved 
too  much  for  him.  I  had  to  stop  for  a  whole 
day.  My  anxiety  knew  no  bounds.  To  the 
worry  over  the  child's  sickness  was  added  the 
fear  that  the  police  might  overtake  me.  To- 
ward evening  the  child  felt  better,  and  we  set 
out  again. 

At  last  there  remained  only  about  ten  miles  to 
Krasnoyarsk.  I  was  beginning  to  think  myself 
out  of  danger,  when  in  the  middle  of  the  day, 
on  the  road  to  Krasnoyarsk,  I  heard  behind  me 
the  voice  of  our  uryddnik.  "  Stop,  stop ! 
Whom  are  you  driving? "  he  shouted  to  my 
driver.  My  blood  grew  cold.  Instinctively  I 
hid  my  face  behind  the  child's  back.  I  heard  the 
footsteps  of  people  near  me,  but  saw  nothing. 

"A  woman  with  a  child,"  said  one  of  them. 
"Go  ahead!" 

120 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

I  hugged  and  kissed  the  child  who  had  saved 
me  from  certain  arrest.  I  promised  the  driver 
na  vodku  ^^  and  he  let  the  horses  go  at  full  gal- 
lop. 

Finally  we  arrived  in  Krasnoyarsk,  and 
stopped  at  a  hotel,  I  felt  sick.  All  my  body 
was  aching  from  the  long  ride.  The  child  had 
grown  terribly  thin,  and  his  dear  little  face 
showed  traces  of  hunger  and  cold.  Both  of  us 
needed  a  good  rest,  but  I  had  spent  more  money 
than  I  had  intended,  and  owing  to  lack  of  funds, 
I  could  not  stop  at  Krasnoyarsk  for  long.  Hav- 
ing paid  all  the  money  I  had  for  a  second-class 
railroad  ticket  to  Vilna,  I  left  the  city  after  a 
twenty-four  hours'  stay  at  the  hotel. 

The  long  journey  from  Krasnoyarsk  to  Vilna 
passed  without  any  serious  incidents.  The  child 
proved  the  best  protection  from  the  searching 
eyes  of  the  police  and  gendarmes.  The  spies 
who  swarmed  at  every  big  station  did  not*  pay  the 
least  attention  to  me.  They  evidently  could  not 
think  of  such  a  combination.  When  we  came  to 
Chelyabinsk  —  the  border  line  between  Siberia 
and  European  Russia  —  and  had  to  change 
trains,  our  car  was  suddenly  locked,  and  the 
passengers  were  let  out  singly  and  their  pass- 

12  Drink-money. 

121 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

ports  examined.  I  held  the  child  in  my  arms, 
and  the  gendarmes  passed  me  without  a  ques- 
tion. 

On  the  fifth  of  March  I  came  to  Vilna,  and  de- 
livered the  child  to  its  grandparents.  I  sent  a 
telegraphic  message  to  the  Orloffs  telling  them 
that  their  child  was  safe.  Being  only  a  short 
distance  from  my  home,  I  decided  to  see  my 
parents.  I  ran  a  terrible  risk,  as  my  parents 
must  have  been  shadowed  by  the  secret  police, 
but  my  love  for  them  proved  stronger  than  all 
considerations  of  prudence  and  safety.  That 
very  day  I  despatched  a  comrade  with  a  letter 
to  my  parents,  and  in  the  evening  they  came  to 
me.  The  joy  of  our  meeting  seemed  to  make  us 
forget  all  the  past  sorrows  and  sufferings. 

"  I  will  not  give  you  any  more  to  them" 
mother  repeated  over  and  again,  without  even  at- 
tempting to  diy  the  tears  which  ran  in  streams 
down  her  face. 

Father  took  out  fifty  rubles  and  said  to  me : 

"  This  money  I  borrowed.  Take  it  and  go 
abroad.  There  you  will  be  safe  from  all  the 
horrors  which  you  have  lived  through." 

"  Father,  I  can  not  do  that.  The  thing  which 
was  done  to  me  and  thousands  of  others  can  not 
go  unpunished.     I  can  not  let  it  go." 

122 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

My  father  took  my  head  in  his  hands  and 
looked  with  his  soft  eyes  straight  into  mine. 

"  O,  God!  what  have  they  made  of  you?  You 
do  not  even  cry,  and  there  is  so  much  hatred  in 
your  eyes,  even  at  the  sight  of  your  old  par- 
ents." 

"  I  can  not,  I  can  not,"  I  kept  saying.  The 
hands  of  my  father  tenderly  pressed  me  closer 
and  closer  to  his  breast. 

"  Look,"  he  said  with  tears  in  his  voice,  "  how 
gray  the  three  years  of  your  imprisonment  have 
made  me.  What  will  become  of  us  if  you  are 
imprisoned  again?" 

"  Father,  dear  Father,  listen  to  me.  It  is  be- 
yond my  strength  to  endure  the  suffering  and 
persecution  to  which  you  and  millions  like  you 
are  subjected.  I  can  not  bear  it.  And  to  put  an 
end  to  it  we  must  be  strong,  and  must  fight.  I 
will  go  and  kill  the  murderers  and  tyrants,  and 
hundreds  will  follow  my  example.  And  if  I 
die.  .  .  ." 

My  father  drew  back,  and  stood  staring  at  me 
in  speechless  terror.  My  mother  ceased  crying. 
Unable  to  stand  the  ordeal  any  longer,  I  threw 
myself  on  the  bed,  hid  my  face  in  a  pillow,  and 
wept  for  a  long,  long  time,  sobbing  like  a  child. 

On  the  next  day  Father  and  Mother  went  to 
123 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OP  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

the  railroad  station  to  see  me  off.  I  boarded  a 
train  for  Minsk.  From  there  a  Jewish  contra- 
bandist directed  me  to  the  Austrian  border.  Af- 
ter hiding  for  three  days  in  a  small  frontier 
town,  I  safely  crossed  the  border  into  Brody. 


124 


I  HAD  decided  to  go  abroad,  because  I  had 
learned  that  the  leading  spirits  of  the 
"  fighting  league "  of  our  party  were  just  then 
living  at  Geneva.  It  was  my  intention  to  join 
the  league  and  become  a  terrorist.  My  own  life 
and  that  of  my  friends  had  taught  me  that  peace- 
ful methods  of  struggle  with  tyranny  were  no 
longer  possible.  Terrorism  at  that  time  was  not 
only  the  mood  of  individuals  in  Russia,  but  all 
classes  of  society  were  pervaded  with  the  spirit 
of  active  struggle.  The  masses  were  waiting 
only  for  a  signal  to  rise  in  open  revolt  against 
the  despotic  regime. 

To  become  a  member  of  the  terrorist  organiza- 
tion was  a  matter  of  considerable  difficulty. 
Only  people  with  an  established  revolution- 
ary reputation  were  admitted.  With  doubt  in 
my  heart  I  arrived  in  Geneva.  Luckily,  I 
found  there  Comrade  Nicholai,  who  had  escaped 
from  Siberia  a  few  weeks  before  me,  and  had 
already  succeeded  in  forming  the  acquaintance 

125 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

of  people  who  stood  close  to  the  league.  Thanks 
to  his  efforts,  I  obtained  an  interview  with  the 
leaders  of  the  organization  several  days  after  my 
'-arrival  in  the  city. 

By  their  keen  sympathy  and  thoughtful  atti- 
tude these  people  made  a  profound  impression 
upon  me.  With  great  circumspection  they  tried 
to  dissuade  me  from  the  course  I  had  chosen,  but 
it  was  of  no  avail.  I  knew  too  much  about  the 
life  of  my  unhappy  country  to  change  my  resolu- 
tion and  turn  from  the  path  to  which  I  had  been 
driven. 

The  executive  committee  finally  decided  to  ad- 
mit me  into  the  organization.  My  first  mission 
was  to  be  the  assassination  of  General  Trepov. 
He  was  the  St.  Petersburg  Governor-General. 
He  it  w^as  who  issued  the  famous  order  to  the 
local  garrison  "  not  to  spare  cartridges." 

The  first  and  foremost  condition  of  the  life 
of  a  terrorist  is  the  complete  severance  of  all  in- 
tercourse with  relatives  and  friends.  A  terror- 
ist may  not  even  correspond  with  anybody.  The 
sole  purpose  of  this  is  to  safeguard  innocent  peo- 
ple against  governmental  persecution  in  the 
event  of  arrest  of  a  member  of  the  organization. 
There  have  been  cases  when  people  were  exiled 
to  Siberia  or  sentenced  to  long  terms  at  hard 

126 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

labor  for  having  written  to  or  received  a  note 
from  a  terrorist. 

This  isolation  and  constant  dwelling  on  one 
thought  have  a  very  peculiar  effect  upon  one. 
The  whole  universe  no  longer  existed  for  me. 
Trepov's  photograph  represented  to  me  a  symbol 
of  all  of  Russia's  ills,  and  his  death  the  only  cure 
for  them.  Now,  when  I  think  of  the  weary  weeks 
which  I  passed  in  a  little  village,  I  know  that 
only  fanatical  faith  gave  me  the  moral  strength 
to  prepare  myself  for  such  an  act.  My  thoughts 
could  not  clearly  picture  that  to  which  I  was  in- 
evitably drawn.  The  fact  that  I  was  going  to 
sacrifice  my  own  life  had  absolutely  no  influ- 
ence whatever  upon  me.  I  never  even  thought 
of  my  own  death.  But  his  death,  the  death  of 
one  whom  I  considered  the  cause  of  thousands 
of  deaths,  was  constantly  in  my  mind. 

At  last,  after  a  month  of  weary  solitude,  a 
comrade  brought  the  disappointing  news  that 
General  Trepov  had  found  out  in  some  way 
about  the  intention  of  the  "  fighting  league " 
and  had  taken  extraordinary  precautions :  he  did 
not  receive  anybody  and  scarcely  left  his  house. 
The  committee  deemed  it  best  to  postpone  the 
attempt  until  another  way  was  found. 

The  "  fighting  league  "  always  had  a  list  of 
127 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

high  government  oJBficials  whose  activity  was 
most  injurious  to  the  liberal  movement,  and 
upon  such  officials  the  league,  in  conjunction 
with  the  central  committee  of  the  Socialist-Rev- 
olutionists' party,  pronounced  sentences  of 
death.  Next  on  the  list  was  Governor-General 
Kleigels  at  Kief,  who  by  indiscriminate  suppres- 
sion of  all  manifestation  of  dissatisfaction 
among  peasants,  students,  and  workingmen  and 
cruel  persecution  of  the  Jews  had  made  himself 
hateful  to  all  who  had  the  welfare  of  Russia  at 
heart.  General  Kleigels  was  warned  by  the 
Kief  committee  of  the  party  that  he  would  be 
assassinated  if  he  did  not  cease  his  atrocities; 
but  he  continued  his  policy  of  suppression,  and 
took  measures  to  guard  against  an  attempt  on 
his  life. 

Comrade  Nicholai  and  I  undertook  to  execute 
the  sentence  pronounced  upon  Governor-General 
Kleigels.  It  was  planned  that  we  should  settle 
at  Kief,  Comrade  Nicholai  as  a  street  peddler 
and  I  as  a  flower-girl.  These  occupations  gave 
us  the  possibility  of  being  in  the  street  all  the 
time  without  arousing  suspicion. 

From  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  eight 
in  the  evening  I  sat  on  a  stone  at  the  corner  of 
the  street  where  the  general  lived.     Comrade 

128 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Nicholai  had  a  stand  on  the  opposite  corner. 
A  week  passed,  and  then  another,  then  a  third, 
but  Kleigels  would  not  leave  his  house.  One 
day  two  Cossacks  galloped  past  me,  followed  by 
a  closed  carriage  with  two  Cossacks  riding  in 
the  rear.  The  carriage  stopped  before  a  church. 
I  hid  myself  around  the  corner.  At  last  Klei- 
gels appeared,  but  his  wife  and  son  were  with 
him.  My  eyes  fell  at  that  moment  on  my  com- 
rade, who  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  church. 
Despair  was  ^Titten  on  his  face.  I  understood 
his  thoughts.  Had  this  cowardly  general  heard 
that  Kalydev  had  twice  risked  his  life,  but  would 
not  kill  the  Grand  Duke  Sergius  because  the 
duchess  was  with  him,  and  so  used  his  family  as 
a  shield?  To  us  they  proved  an  insurmountable 
barrier.  It  was  no  part  of  our  policy  to  shed 
the  innocent  blood  of  women  and  children.  We 
strictly  adhered  to  this  rule,  sometimes  at  great 
cost  to  ourselves. 

So  my  second  mission  was  doomed  to  failure. 
Soon  after  my  last  unsatisfactory  conference 
with  M.  Azeff,  a  prime  mover  in  the  league 
(whom  I  later  knew  as  an  infamous  traitor  to 
our  sacred  cause),  a  bomb  hurled  by  Ivan 
Kalydev  ended  the  life  of  Grand  Duke  Sergius, 
then  governor-general  at  Moscow. 

129 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Crazed  with  fear,  the  czar  locked  himself  in 
his  palace,  which  was  filled  with  soldiers.  But 
the  revolutionary  propaganda  in  the  army  had 
weakened  even  this  bulwark  of  czarism,  and  the 
soldiers  could  no  longer  be  trusted. 

In  the  meantime  the  political  agitation  in  the 
country  was  assuming  unheard-of  proportions. 
Partial  strikes  on  railroads  and  other  public  and 
private  enterprises  united  into  one  country-mde 
general  strike.  The  whole  mechanism  of  the 
great  empire  came  to  a  standstill.  The  authori- 
ties completely  lost  their  heads,  and  for  several 
days  the  very  capital  was  virtually  ruled  by  the 
"  council  of  labor  deputies  "  elected  by  the  work- 
men of  St.  Petersburg. 

This  open  and  general  revolt  forced  the  czar 
to  yield,  and  on  the  seventeenth  of  October,  1905, 
he  issued  the  famous  manifesto  granting  a  con- 
stitution to  Russia. 


130 


VI 

ON  the  day  following  the  issue  of  the  mani- 
festo, the  "  black  hundred,"  which  con- 
sisted chiefly  of  the  riffraff  of  the  city  population, 
with  an  admixture  of  secret  police  agents,  dis- 
guised gendarmes,  and  spies,  took  possession  of 
Kief.  They  robbed  and  murdered  the  defense- 
less inhabitants  of  the  city  before  the  very  eyes 
of  the  soldiers  and  police,  and  were  even  helped 
by  these  in  their  work  of  jDillage  and  slaugh- 
ter. 

To  resist  the  attacks  of  these  hooligans,  the 
young  people  formed  self-defense  leagues.  I  be- 
came a  member  of  one  of  these  leagues,  and  with 
a  revolver  in  hand  fought  off  the  drunken  mob. 
After  two  days  of  such  activity  my  position  in 
the  city  became  insecure.  I  was  under  surveil- 
lance, and  arrest  threatened  me  at  any  moment. 
Then  I  decided  to  leave.  I  changed  my  appear- 
ance somewhat,  and  went  to  Moscow.  I  stayed 
in  Moscow  for  some  time,  and,  having  learned 
that  agitators  were  wanted  in  the  province  of 
Tchernigoff,  went  there.     I  had  a  letter  to  a  cer- 

131 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

tain  Mr.  B ,  who  was  well  known  for  his 

revolutionary  propaganda  among  the  peasants. 

When  I  came  to  him  and  declared  my  inten- 
tion of  doing  propaganda  work  in  the  villages, 
he  said  to  me : 

"  I  am  YOfj  sorry  you  came  to  us  at  such  a  bad 
time.  Governor  Khvostoff  has  been  *  pacifying ' 
the  peasants,  and  the  village  now  presents  a 
dreadful  sight." 

He  introduced  me  to  two  comrades,  a  middle- 
aged  man  and  a  young  girl,  and  we  three  started 
out  the  next  day.  We  were  dressed  in  peasant 
garb,  and  in  our  wallets,  which  we  carried  on 
our  backs,  were  prohibited  pamphlets.  Toward 
evening  we  came  to  the  nearest  village.  We 
entered  a  hut,  and  the  host  welcomed  us  very 
cordially. 

"  Put  up  the  samovar,"  he  said  to  his  wife, 
w^ho  was  rocking  a  baby  in  a  cradle  suspended 
from  the  ceiling. 

"Well,  Vania,  why  didn't  you  come  around 
to  us  for  such  a  long  time?"  the  host  asked, 
turning  to  my  comrade. 

"  I  was  in  Moscow,"  Vania  answered. 

"What  have  they  decided  there?"  asked  the 
host.  But  suddenly  his  cheerful,  smiling  face 
dai^kened,  and  not  waiting  for  an  answer,  he 

132 


I  VAX    KALYAEN' 
Born   187  7,  assassinated   Grand   Duke   Sergius.  sentenced 
to   death   and   executed   in   the   fortress   of 
Shlusselbura:   in   1905 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN   EXILE 

said :  "  Did  you  hear  what  happened  to  us 
here?" 

"Yes,  I  did,"  my  comrade  replied;  "but  I 
want  to  hear  the  whole  story  from  you." 

"Wait,  the  boys  will  come,  and  we  will  talk 
it  over,"  said  the  host.  "  Did  you  bring  any 
books?  "  he  asked. 

We  untied  our  wallets  and  laid  out  on  the 
table  all  the  pamphlets  we  had  brought.  The 
host  reverently  picked  up  every  one  of  them  and 
read  the  titles  aloud. 

Soon  the  hut  filled  with  young  and  old  peas- 
ants. There  were  even  women  with  infants  in 
their  arms.  They  all  knew  Vania  well,  and 
greeted  him  in  a  friendly  manner. 

"  See  how  many  of  our  people  are  missing ! " 
said  an  old  peasant  with  a  white  beard. 
"  That 's  after  the  manifesto." 

"  Tell  Vania  everything,"  several  voices  said 
at  once. 

The  old  peasant  laid  his  hands  on  the  table, 
crossed  them,  and  began: 

"When  we  heard  that  the  czar  had  issued  a 
manifesto  and  had  given  lis  liberty, —  and  the 
year  had  been  a  bad  one,  and  there  was  nothing 
in  our  bams, —  we  understood  by  the  czar's 
favor  to  us  that  we  might  take  the  superfluous 

135 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

grain  from  the  landowners.  We  gathered  the 
whole  village,  came  to  the  house  of  the  land- 
owner, called  him  out,  and  said  to  him : 

" '  The  czar's  favor  gave  us  a  manifesto  that 
we  might  take  your  grain,  there  being  none  in 
our  barns.  Give  us  the  key.  We  will  divide 
fairly,  and  shall  not  forget  you.' 

"  The  landowner  began  to  yell  at  us,  and  went 
back  into  the  house.  We  waited,  but  he  did  n't 
come  out.  Then  we  decided  that  he  had  heard 
nothing  about  the  czar's  manifesto.  So  we  broke 
the  lock,  divided  the  grain  among  ourselves,  and 
w^ent  home.  That  was  in  the  morning.  Toward 
evening  we  heard  a  noise,  and  the  dogs  were 
barking.  We  went  out  and  saw  an  important 
official  coming.  All  about  him  were  Cossacks. 
We  thought  that  he  came  to  read  to  us  the 
czar's  manifesto,  so  we  fetched  bread  and  salt 
and  met  him,  bowing  low.  He  ordered  us  to 
gather  in  the  village  square.  We  came  in  good 
order,  and  he  swore  at  us  in  the  worst  language. 
Then  he  shouted: 

"  *  Those  of  you  who  first  thought  of  rioting 
and  going  against  the  landowTier  step  out.' 

"  We  all  answered  in  chorus : 

"*Your  high  Nobility,  we  did  not  riot,  but 
there  was  a  manifesto  from  the  czar  that  we 

136 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

might  take  the  grain  from  the  landowner,  there 
being  none  in  our  barns.' 

"  *  I  '11  show  you ! '  he  shouted,  striking  us 
with  a  nagaika.  *  I  '11  show  you  what  the  czar's 
manifesto  means !     Let  us  have  rods,  rods ! ' 

"  They  seized  Andrei  first,  and  flogged  the 
poor  fellow  so  that  he  remained  lying  on  the 
spot.  His  hapless  wife  was  weeping,  and  the 
Cossacks  hit  her  in  the  face  with  their  nagaikas 
and  swore  at  her.  The  women  and  children  be- 
gan to  cry.  The  Cossacks  surrounded  us  on  all 
sides  and  did  not  let  us  get  away.  They  flogged 
ten  people,  and  after  that  the  official  —  it  was 
the  governor  —  said : 

"  ^  And  now  take  the  grain  back  to  the  land- 
owner's bam.' 

"  ^  That,  your  high  Nobility,  we  cannot  do,' 
we  answered.  '  There  was  a  manifesto  from  the 
czar  that  we  might  take  the  grain  for  ourselves.' 

" '  Shoot  these  dogs ! '  he  shouted  to  his  Cos- 
sacks, and  they  fired  a  volley.  Eight  were  killed 
and  many  wounded.  After  that  the  Cossacks 
went  to  the  houses  and  began  to  rob  us.  They 
insulted  our  wives  and  daughters,  and  Savitch's 
girl  they  crippled  for  life.'' 

As  he  spoke  his  white  head  was  shaking,  and 
his    withered    hands    were    trembling.     Eveiy 

137 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

word  of  Ms  sounded  terrible  in  the  dimly  lighted 
hut.  He  finished,  and  rested  his  head  on  his 
hands.  For  a  long  time  no  one  dared  to  dis- 
turb the  silence  which  reigned  in  the  room.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  a  whole  eternity  had  passed 
since  he  began  his  woeful  tale. 

About  ten  o'clock  the  gathering  broke  up. 
We  remained  there  for  the  night.  I  did  not 
sleep.  That  night  a  resolution  ripened  in  my 
mind.  In  the  morning  I  refused  to  go  farther 
and  returned  to  the  city.  I  went  to  a  member 
of  a  local  committee  of  the  Socialist-Revolution- 
ists' party.  He  was  a  well-known  revolutionist 
who  had  spent  a  great  many  years  in  prison  and 
in  Siberian  exile.  To  this  man  I  confided  my 
secret. 

"  Very  well/'  he  said ;  "  I  will  communicate 
with  the  committee." 

On  the  same  day  he  delivered  to  me  the  follow- 
ing decision: 

"  The  committee  deems  the  assassination  of 
Governor  Khvostoff  necessary  at  this  moment, 
as  a  response  to  all  the  atrocities  he  has  commit- 
ted in  the  villages.  It  has  also  become  known  to 
the  committee  that  the  governor  is  trying  to  or- 
ganize a  Jewish  pogrom  in  the  city  of  Tcherni- 
goff.     In  consideration  of  all  this  the  committee 

138 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

accepts  your  proposal,  and  authorizes  you  to 
make  the  attempt." 

Mr.  V also  gave  me  money  for  necessary 

expenses  and  some  information  about  the  gov- 
ernor. 

He  lived  at  one  end  of  Tchernigoff.  His 
house  stood  on  a  hill,  and  was  surrounded  by  a 
garden.  Fortunately,  the  third  house  from  his 
was  vacant,  and  I  immediately  rented  it.  The 
house  was  rather  too  large  for  one  person,  and  to 
avert  suspicion  I  told  the  landlady  that  I  ex- 
pected my  mother  and  sister  from  Warsaw.  I 
sent  my  passport  —  that  of  a  Polish  school- 
teacher—  to  the  police  station,  and  in  a  few 
days  it  came  back  safely.  Then  I  telegraphed 
to  Comrade  Nicholai.  He  had  shortly  before 
left  the  hospital,  having  been  wounded  during 
a  pogrom  that  occurred  on  the  day  after  the  is- 
sue of  the  manifesto.  Comrade  Nicholai  arrived 
in  Tchernigoff  in  a  few  days,  and  took  lodgings 
opposite  the  Noblemen's  Assembly.  As  we  had 
learned,  the  governor  sometimes  visited  there. 

Sitting  at  my  ^\indow,  I  studied  the  governor's 
daily  routine.  I  learned  when  he  got  up  and 
when  he  went  to  sleep.  I  learned  when  he  re- 
ceived and  whom.     I  even  knew  his  dinner-hour. 

For  a  whole  week  the  governor  did  not  leave 
139 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Ms  house  except  for  a  walk  in  his  garden. 
Slowly  the  days  and  sleepless  nights  dragged 
by.  Alone  with  my  thoughts,  I  paced  the  de- 
serted house.  I  spent  most  of  the  time  making 
up  a  list  of  the  governor's  victims.  I  treasured 
the  names  of  those  who  had  been  shot  or  flogged 
to  death  by  him.  I  read  and  re-read  for  the 
thousandth  time  the  simple  narratives  of  the 
peasants  about  his  terrible  crimes,  and  my  heart 
bled  for  them.  Hopefully  I  looked  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  shelf  on  which  the  bomb  lay. 

Finally  it  became  positively  known  to  us  that 
the  governor  would  drive  on  New-Year's  day,  at 
twelve  o'clock,  to  the  Noblemen's  Assembly,  and 
we  decided  to  assassinate  him  on  his  way  back. 

It  was  New- Year's  eve.  I  sat  near  the  win- 
dow and  looked  at  the  snow-covered  road. 
There  was  only  one  thought  in  my  mind :  he  must 
die.  All  doubts  had  disappeared.  I  knew,  I 
felt  that  it  was  going  to  happen. 

At  midnight  I  carefully  removed  the  tube  from 
the  bomb,  dried  the  powder,  and  reloaded  the 
bomb.  I  put  the  four-pound  tin  box  in  a  fine 
hand-bag  specially  bought  for  the  occasion,  and 
again  read  over  the  list  of  the  peasants  mur- 
dered by  the  governor.     I  set  eveiything  in  or- 

140 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

der,  wTote  a  letter,  and  left  money  for  the  land- 
lady.    Then  I  went  to  bed. 

"  I  must  sleep,"  I  repeated  to  myself,  and  I 
actually  fell  asleep. 

A  knock  at  the  door  roused  me.  I  opened  my 
eyes,  and  the  consciousness  of  what  was  going 
to  happen  on  that  day  filled  my  soul.  My  heart 
began  to  beat  faster  and  faster.  There  was  an- 
other knock  at  the  door,  I  slipped  on  a  morn- 
ing grown,  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  A 
group  of  masked  children  stood  at  the  door.  I 
understood  that  they  must  have  come  to  con- 
gratulate me,  and,  according  to  custom,  throw 
millet-seeds  all  over  the  house.  For  this  they 
get  a  few  kopecks. 

I  admitted  them,  and  in  feverish  haste  began 
to  hand  to  them  anything  I  could  lay  my  hands 
on.  An  uncontrollable  desire  to  remain  a  little 
longer  with  these  innocent  children  seized  me, 
and  I  begged  them  to  take  off  their  masks  and 
have  tea  with  me.  They  hesitated;  but  when 
one  of  the  elder  boys  took  off  his  mask,  all  fol- 
lowed his  example.  I  made  tea,  and  seated  the 
children  about  the  table.  They  were  becoming 
bolder  and  bolder,  and  soon  they  were  chatting 
carelessly  and  curiously  regarding  me  and  every- 
thing in  the  house. 

141 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

The  samovar  was  steaming  merrily  on  the 
table,  the  children  were  laughing  noisily,  the 
sun  shone  brightly  in  my  window.  For  a  min- 
ute I  forgot  what  was  going  to  happen  in  a  few 
hours.  Suddenly  a  Cossack  galloped  past,  fol- 
lowed by  a  carriage.  I  recognized  the  carriage. 
The  children  continued  to  laugh,  but  I  no  longer 
heard  them. 

"  Go,  go,  children !  it  is  time ! "  I  exclaimed. 
"  But  first  let  us  bid  good-by." 

They  looked  at  me  in  surprise.  Their  cheer- 
ful little  faces  clouded  with  regret,  and  their 
thin,  unwashed  hands  extended  to  me. 

"  Don't  forget  me,  children !  "  I  said. 

They  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  wished  me  a 
happy  New- Year,  and  quietly  went  away.  I 
dressed  hastily,  took  my  hand-bag,  and  went  into 
the  street. 

The  day  was  bright  and  cold,  the  sky  cloud- 
less. The  street  was  almost  deserted,  A^ith  only 
now  and  then  an  occasional  passer-by  hurrying 
to  church.  Four  blocks  from  my  house  was  a 
bridge  on  which  a  gorodovoi  stood  on  fixed  post. 
Holding  the  bag  in  my  hand,  I  passed  him,  and 
he  bowed  low  and  wished  me  a  happy  New-Year. 
Soon,  howeyer,  I  came  back,  and  began  to  walk 
up  and  down  not  far  from  my  house.     A  few 

142 


'\ 


1^ 


¥ 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

minutes  later  I  saw  from  afar  Comrade  Nicholai 
walking  with  slow  and  measured  steps  toward 
me.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  box  tied  with  a  red 
ribbon:  that  was  a  bomb.  He  crossed  the 
bridge,  and  stopped  about  seventy  or  eighty  feet 
from  me.  I  knew  then  that  he  would  throw  the 
bomb  from  there.  It  was  our  understanding 
that  he  would  throw  the  bomb  from  where  he 
stopped.  I  continued  to  walk  back  and  forth 
in  the  direction  of  the  governor's  house.  Com- 
rade Nicholai  overtook  me,  and  whispered  while 
passing : 

"  I  saw  him.  Remember,  keep  farther  away 
from  me,  lest  an  accident  should  happen  to  your 
bomb  when  mine  explodes." 

"All  right,"  I  whispered  in  reply. 

"  Good-by !  "  said  Nicholai,  and  quickly  went 
to  his  former  place. 

I  followed  him  with  my  eyes,  hardly  moving. 
The  street  still  remained  deserted.  Suddenly 
a  mounted  Cossack  appeared,  and  behind  him 
a  carriage.  Comrade  Nicholai  immediately 
stepped  down  from  the  curb.  At  that  moment 
the  carriage  approached  him.  He  raised  his 
hand,  and  threw  the  bomb  under  the  carriage. 
The  bomb  fell  softly  on  the  snow  and  did  not 
explode.    A  police  officer  who  was  riding  behind 

145 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

the  governor  sprang  at  Nicholai,  and  I  heard  the 
report  of  a  pistol.  The  carriage  stopped  for  an 
instant;  but  evidently  taking  in  the  situation, 
the  coachman  began  to  whip  the  horses,  and 
drove  at  full  gallop  straight  in  my  direction. 
I  stepped  into  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  with 
all  my  might  hurled  the  bomb  against  the  car- 
riage window.  A  terrific  force  instantly 
stunned  me.     I  felt  that  I  was  lifted  into  the  air. 

When  I  regained  consciousness  and  opened 
my  eyes  there  was  nobody  around.  I  lay  on  the 
road  amid  a  heap  of  debris.  Blood  was  stream- 
ing down  my  face  and  hands.  I  tried  to  lift 
my  head,  and  lost  consciousness. 

When  I  came  to  the  second  time  I  was  stand- 
ing near  a  cab,  supported  by  a  strange  woman. 
She  was  telling  something  to  the  cabman,  but  I 
could  not  hear  her.  She  put  me  into  the  cab, 
and  the  driver  started.  He  drove  past  my 
house,  across  the  bridge,  where  a  gorodovoi  had 
always  stood,  but  where  there  was  none  now. 
We  rode  through  the  whole  length  of  the  street 
without  meeting  a  human  being. 

"What  does  this  mean?  Where  are  all  the 
people?  "  I  thought  to  myself. 

The  cab  turned  into  some  street,  and  stopped 
in  front  of  a  house.     The  name  of  a  hospital  at 

146 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

once  brought  me  to  my  senses.  I  understood 
that  through  some  miracle  I  had  been  saved 
from  destruction,  and  that  I  had  been  brought, 
not  to  the  prison,  but  to  a  private  hospital.  I 
paid  the  cabman,  waited  until  he  disappeared 
around  the  corner,  and  then  went.  At  every 
step  blood  streamed  down  my  face,  blinding  me. 
I  walked  and  walked,  utterly  unaware  of  where 
I  was  and  where  I  was  going.  I  felt  that  my 
strength  was  leaving  me,  and  that  I  would  soon 
fall  in  the  middle  of  the  street.  I  chanced  to 
see  an  open  gate.  I  went  into  the  yard,  and 
sat  down  on  the  snow.  The  thought  that  I  was 
saved  did  not  console  me.  I  knew  that  whoever 
should  undertake  to  hide  me  would  perish  to- 
gether with  me. 

"  Where,  where  shall  I  go?  " 

To  stop  the  flow  of  blood,  I  put  some  snow  in 
my  handkerchief  and  applied  it  to  my  head. 
This  refreshed  me  a  little.  Then  I  took  off  my 
fur  coat  and  lay  down  on  it.  Gradually  my 
hands  and  feet  began  to  grow  numb  with  cold. 
The  snow  about  me  became  red.  Drops  of  blood 
froze  on  my  face  and  hands.  It  grew  dark.  I 
felt  a  strange  weakness  in  my  whole  body,  and 
a  deadly  drowsiness  seized  my  benumbed  limbs. 
I  do  not  know  how  long  I  had  lain  thus  when  I 

147 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

felt  that  some  one  was  tugging  at  my  sleeve. 
With  difficulty  I  opened  my  eyes.  A  youth 
stood  near  me.  He  bent  down  close  to  my  ear, 
and  I  distinctly  heard :  "  Is  that  you  who 
killed  the  governor  —  you?" 

His  words  lighted  up  my  dying  conscious- 
ness. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I." 

The  youth  straightened  up,  looked  once  more 
at  me  and  the  blood-stained  snow,  and  went 
away  without  saying  another  word.  Hardly 
five  minutes  had  passed  when  he  came  back,  fol- 
lowed by  a  hunchbacked  old  man.  They  raised 
me  in  their  arms,  and  carried  me  into  a  house. 
The  warm  air  and  cold  water  applied  to  my 
head  brought  me  to  full  consciousness.  I  real- 
ized that  these  poor  Hebrews  were  imperiling 
their  lives. 

"  I  must  go  away  from  here,"  I  said  to  the 
old  hostess  who  was  coaxing  me  to  lie  down  on 
their  only  bed. 

"  But  the  young  man  asked  us  to  take  care 
of  you,"  she  replied. 

The  youth  returned  from  somewhere  greatly 
agitated,  and  said  that  the  police  were  following 
me  by  the  blood  trail,  and  would  probably  soon 
be  there. 

148 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  Oh,  oh ! "  groaned  the  old  woman,  and  in 
great  terror  began  to  circle  about  the  room.  I 
ran  to  the  door,  intending  to  go  out,  but  the 
woman  cried  to  me: 

"  What  are  you  doing?  They  will  see  you, 
and  we  shall  perish." 

Suddenly  she  opened  the  wardrobe,  pushed 
me  in,  and  locked  it.  Humiliated  and  ex- 
hausted, I  leaned  against  the  door  of  the  ward- 
robe, not  daring  to  breathe.  A  far-away  noise 
reached  my  ear.  It  came  nearer  and  nearer.  I 
heard  the  tramping  of  many  feet  near  my  hiding- 
place.  My  knees  bent  under  me,  and  I  lost  con- 
sciousness. 

Late  at  night  I  found  myself  sitting  at  a  table. 
The  room  was  lighted  by  a  candle.  The  old 
woman  was  whispering  in  my  ear: 

"  Thanks  to  God !  I  succeeded  in  fooling 
them." 

I  could  not  understand  what  she  was  saying. 
I  felt  sharp  pain  in  my  head,  and  my  whole  body 
was  burning.  I  cared  about  nothing,  and  wished 
only  for  quiet  and  rest. 

The  youth  came  in,  holding  in  his  hands  a 
soldier's  coat  and  cap.  They  put  it  on  me,  and 
holding  me  under  the  arms  led  me  into  the  yard. 
They  seated  me  in  a  sleigh,  with  the  youth  be- 

149 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

side  me,  and  we  drove  away.  We  rode  aimlessly 
through  the  city,  passing  everywhere  patrols  of 
soldiers  and  police.  This  eighteen-year-old 
youth  evidently  did  not  know  where  he  was  tak- 
ing me.  Bewildered  by  his  discovery,  and  not 
wishing  to  deliver  me  into  the  hands  of  the  in- 
furiated authorities,  he  tried  to  save  me  at  the 
risk  of  his  own  life. 

At  last  we  safely  got  out  of  the  city,  and  after 
driving  the  whole  night  came  to  the  town  of 
Gorodnia.  In  this  little  town,  where  the  youth 
hoped  to  put  me  on  a  train,  we  were  stopped  by 
a  police  captain  with  a  group  of  soldiers.  They 
took  us  to  the  police  station  and  kept  us  there 
until  a  company  of  Cossacks  arrived.  I  was 
separated  from  the  youth,  put  in  a  closed  car- 
riage, and  rushed  back  to  Tchernigoff.  We 
came  there  toward  evening. 

There  was  no  furniture  whatever  in  the  filthy 
cell  at  the  police  station  where  they  first  put 
me,  and  I  lay  down  on  the  floor.  I  was  so  weak 
from  the  loss  of  blood  that  I  could  not  stand 
on  my  feet.  A  gendarme  with  a  drawn  saber 
stood  near  me.     The  door  was  not  locked. 

For  several  days  I  was  in  a  semiconscious 
state.  I  remember  only  that  my  cell  was  always 
crowded  with  officials,  high  and  low,  who  came 

150 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

to  look  at  me.  Whenever  I  began  to  fall  asleep, 
the  gendarme  roused  me  and  demanded: 

"  Who  are  your  accomplices?  What  are  their 
names?" 

Weak  and  exhausted  as  I  was,  this  question 
always  brought  me  back  to  consciousness.  I 
knew  perfectly  w^ell  why  the  gendarme  asked 
me  this,  and  silence  was  my  only  answer. 

This  inofficial  torture  continued  for  two 
weeks,  but  the  consciousness  of  duty  was  so 
strong  in  me  that  all  the  physical  pain  and  mis- 
ery they  inflicted  upon  me  did  not  produce  the 
desired  effect,  and  all  the  subtle  contrivances  of 
the  gendarmes  to  wring  a  confession  from  me 
were  futile.  All  that  they  could  think  of  doing 
to  me  was  in  a  vast  degree  milder  than  what  I 
had  done  to  myself.  My  tormentors  understood 
this,  and  seeing  that  their  inhuman  methods  did 
not  bring  the  desired  results,  they  often  let  me 
sleep.  During  these  two  weeks  the  procurator 
and  the  examining  magistrate  came  to  see  me  a 
couple  of  times.  But  as  I  did  not  at  all  think 
of  denying  that  I  had  thrown  the  bomb  at 
Governor  Khvostoff,  they  lost  all  interest  in  the 
case,  and  conducted  the  investigation  with  cold 
indifference.  They  did  not  even  succeed  in 
learning  my  real  name,  and  I  appeared  before 

151 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OP  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

the  court  as  "  Unknown."  By  not  revealing  my 
identity  I  hoped  to  spare  my  parents  the  cruel 
agony  for  a  daughter  who  must  die  on  the  gal- 
lows. 

On  the  sixteenth  of  January,  late  at  night,  I 
was  transferred  to  the  military  prison,  and  told 
there  that  I  would  be  tried  by  court-martial  the 
next  day.  At  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  Com- 
rade Nicholai,  the  youth  who  was  guilty  of 
nothing  but  not  having  betrayed  me  to  the  po- 
lice, and  I  appeared  before  the  military  court. 
When  we  were  led  into  the  court-room  it  was 
crowded  with  gendarmes  and  police.  In  a  cor- 
ner sat  the  unfortunate  old  parents  of  the  youth. 
They  were  the  only  outsiders. 

The  ceremony  of  the  trial  lasted  about  half 
an  hour,  because  we  did  not  deny  the  fact,  and 
there  remained  only  to  render  the  verdict,  which 
they  as  well  as  we  knew  beforehand.  We  were 
offered  to  say  our  "  last  word."  ^  Comrade 
Nicholai  rose  and  said : 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  court :  I  went  openly  to 
fight  the  enemies  of  the  people.  I  knew  before- 
hand that  for  this  death  awaited  me.     But  the 

1  It  is  a  general  practice  in  R.ussian  courts  to  allow  the 
accused  to  address  the  court  before  the  judges  retire  to  de- 
liberate upon  the  verdict. 

152 


< 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OP  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

belief  that  only  by  this  means  we  can  free  Rus- 
sia gave  me  the  strength  to  sacrifice  my  young 
life.  And  now,  before  my  death,  I  swear  to  you, 
my  enemies,  that  this  youth  is  innocent,  and 
that  I  see  him  for  the  first  time  in  my  life." 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  court,"  said  the  youth,  "  I 
do  not  ask  for  clemency  for  myself,  although 
I  do  not  consider  myself  guilty.  But  I  beg  you 
to  look  at  my  old  parents  and  take  pity  on  them." 

It  was  my  turn  to  say  my  "  last  word,"  and 
I  rose. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  court :  I  swear  to  you 
by  my  sacued  belief  that  Russia  will  be  free,  for 
in  this  belief  I  w^ent  to  my  death;  I  swear  to 
you  by  the  name  of  the  *  fighting  league,'  to 
which  I  have  the  honor  of  belonging,  that  this 
boy  is  innocent.  Look  at  me.  I  am  young,  and 
I  love  life.  I  never  knew  Khvostoff,  and  had 
nothing  against  him  personally.  I  went  to  as- 
sassinate him  for  the  terrible  atrocities  commit- 
ted by  him  in  the  villages,  and  after  he  had 
proved  to  be  a  real  enemy  of  the  people.  I  knew 
beforehand  that  I  should  die  for  this,  but  the 
thought  of  death  did  not  terrify  me.  I  went 
openly  to  my  aim,  and  never  lied  even  to  my 
enemies.  Perhaps  I  have  only  twenty-four 
hours  to  live,  and  you  are  the  only  people  I  see 

155 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

before  my  death.  At  this  minute  I  want  to  for- 
get that  you  are  my  enemies,  and,  as  before  God, 
I  swear  that  this  youth  is  innocent." 

I  sat  down,  and  the  procurator  rose  and  said : 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  court :  Although  the  ac- 
cused produce  a  favorable  impression,  I,  in  the 
name  of  the  law,  must  demand  a  death-sentence 
for  all  three." 

After  this  the  court  retired  to  deliberate  upon 
the  verdict,  and  we  were  taken  to  our  cells. 

Ten'or  seized  me  at  the  thought  that  they 
might  hang  this  strange  eighteen-year-old  boy. 
I  paced  my  cell  for  hours.  The  sun  set,  it  grew 
dark,  and  the  judges  were  still  deliberating. 
Oh,  if  only  they  would  not  hang  him ! 

The  clock  struck  midnight.  Some  one  stealth- 
ily opened  my  door. 

"  To  the  court-room,  please !  " 

The  gendarme  spoke  in  a  whisper.  The  corri- 
dor was  half  dark.  There  Avas  a  clinking  of 
spurs  and  sabers  and  the  noise  of  huiTied  foot- 
steps. Gendarmes  and  police  were  everywhere. 
The  court-room  was  empty.  The  faces  of  the 
judges  looked  tired  and  haggard.  The  procura- 
tor did  not  look  at  us.  At  the  sight  of  their 
expressions  the  torturous  thought,  "  They  will 
hang  him !     They  will  hang  him !  "  passed  in  my 

156 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

mind.  Everything  grew  cold  within  me.  I 
could  hardly  stand  on  my  feet.  At  last  the 
president  of  the  court,  an  old  general,  read  the 
verdict. 

"  Xicholai  Shpeizman  is  sentenced  to  death  by 
hanging.     '  Unknown '  is  sentenced  to  death  by 

hanging.     B A is  sentenced  to  ten  years 

at  hard  labor." 

I  felt  as  if  a  heavy  load  had  fallen  off  my 
shoulders.  We  congratulated  the  youth  and 
bade  him  good-by. 

"  Ten  j^ears  at  hard  labor ! "  I  said  aloud. 
"  You  \^'ill  not  have  served  a  year  when  Russia* 
will  be  free," 

The  judges  looked  in  surprise  at  our  animated 
faces,  and  one  gendarme  whispered  to  the  other : 

"  They  probably  did  not  hear  their  own  sen- 
tences." 

We  were  led  back  to  our  cells. 

"  Is  this  a  death-sentence?  "  I  asked  myself 
when  I  was  left  alone.  "  But  why  is  my  heart 
so  light?  Vfhj  don't  I  feel  what  is  going  to  be 
in  twenty-four  hours?"  I  searched  all  the  re- 
cesses of  my  soul,  I  watched  its  innermost 
thoughts  and  movements,  but  there  was  no  sign 
of  death. 

I  saw  no  longer  the  walls  of  my  solitary  cell. 
157 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  EUSSIAN  EXILE 

I  heard  no  more  the  stealthy  footsteps  of  the 
gendarmes.  I  no  longer  looked  at  the  indiffer- 
ent faces  of  my  jailers.  There  was  no  death, 
there  were  no  longer  the  cruel  chains  which 
bound  Kussia.  I  was  rising  higher  and  higher, 
supported  by  thousands  of  arms.  Where  am  I? 
Where  am  I?  "  Eussia  is  free,  free!  "  some  one 
whispered  in  my  ear.  "  You  did  not  assassinate 
any  one.  That  was  all  a  nightmare,  a  horrible 
nightmare." 

"  Dress  yourself,  dress  yourself !  " 

This  voice  at  once  roused  me  to  consciousness. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  the  twenty-four  hours 
have  already  passed?  "  I  involuntarily  asked  the 
gendarme.     "  What  time  is  it?  " 

"  It  is  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,"  he  replied. 

"  Is  n't  it  all  the  same,"  I  thought  to  myself, 
"  whether  they  will  hang  me  a  few  hours  earlier 
or  later?  " 

The  sun  had  not  yet  risen.  And  how  I  wanted 
to  see  the  sun! 

"Where  will  it  be?"  I  asked  the  gendarme, 
but  he  only  looked  at  me  with  a  confused  expres- 
sion and  did  not  answer.  Suddenly  I  remem- 
bered the  letter  I  had  prepared  for  my  parents. 
It  was  my  last  word  to  them.  I  looked  around ; 
there  was  no  one  but  this  gendarme. 

158 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OP  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  Listen,"  I  said  to  liim.  "  I  cannot  go  to  the 
gallows  at  peace  with  myself  not  having  sent 
this  note  to  my  parents.  This  is  the  last  wish 
of  a  woman  who  goes  to  die,  and  you  cannot 
refuse  her.  Whoever  you  are,  you  have  or  had 
parents  and  must  understand  their  terrible 
grief."  And  I  pressed  the  note  into  his  hand. 
He  looked  about  him,  concealed  the  note,  and 
said: 

"All  right;  I  will  send  it.  But  now  I  am 
taking  you  not  to  the  execution,  but  to  the 
prison." 

"  They  will  hang  me  there"  I  assured  him. 

Later  I  found  that  my  parents  never  received 
this  note.  But,  after  all,  he  was  a  kind  gen- 
darme, because  the  thought  that  the  parents 
would  receive  my  last  words  of  consolation  gave 
me  much  strength,  and  I  would  have  died 
happy. 

In  a  closed  carriage,  surrounded  on  all  sides 
by  mounted  soldiers,  I  was  taken  to  the  city 
prison.  I  was  locked  in  a  dark  and  filthy  soli- 
tary cell.  "  I  shall  have  to  wait  here  a  whole 
day,"  I  thought  to  myself.  The  day  passed 
quickly,  and  night  came.  I  lay  down  on  the  cot 
without  undressing.  In  alarm  I  listened  to  the 
footsteps    of    the    gendarmes    in    the    corridor. 

159 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"Why  don't  they  take  me?"  I  thought.  The 
hours  slowly  dragged  by.  Footsteps  were  con- 
stantly heard;  frequently  they  approached  my 
door,  but  passed  it  every  time.  Finally  I  fell 
asleep. 

When  I  woke,  the  sun  was  high.  An  uncon- 
trollable joy  of  life  seized  me.  I  felt  my  hands, 
my  limbs,  and  the  happy  consciousness  that  I 
was  alive,  young  and  strong,  was  stronger  than 
the  death-sentence  which  hung  over  me.  Every 
sound  I  could  catch  gladdened  me.  The  tiny 
bit  of  blue  sky  I  saw  through  the  bars  enchant- 
ingly  drew  me  toward  itself.  I  paced  my  cell, 
and  my  dreams  carried  me  far  beyond  the  prison 
walls.  A  great  feeling  of  love  of  life,  love  of  all 
living,  grew  more  and  more  wdthin  me,  and  it 
vanquished  death. 

"  They  will  hang  you  to-night,"  I  tried  to 
argue  with  myself,  but  the  words  seemed  mean- 
ingless. They  could  not  conquer  my  belief  in 
life,  in  all  living.  My  jailers  no  longer  irritated 
me.  There  was  no  more  hatred  in  my  heart  to- 
ward these  misguided  people.  They  seemed  so 
far,  far  away  from  me. 

The  whole  day  I  was  in  a  state  of  exaltation, 
and  in  the  evening  I  again  prepared  for  death, 
and  waited.     Without  undressing,  I  lay  down, 

160 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

but  could  not  keep  awake  and  fell  asleep.  Six 
days  passed  thus  in  the  expectation  of  death. 
Every  morning  I  looked  in  surprise  at  the  bit  of 
sky,  which  calmly  regarded  me  from  its  azure 
height. 

"  What  is  it,  then?  Is  it  possible  that  this  is 
death?"  I  wondered. 

On  the  seventh  day  there  came  a  knock  on  the 
wall.  My  heart  began  to  beat  joyfully :  so  I  had 
a  neighbor! 

"  Who  are  you?  "  I  knocked  immediately,  and 
there  came  an  answer,  clear  and  unmistakable, 
"  Shpeizman." 

"  O  God !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  how  is  that?  He  is 
here,  and  they  did  not  hang  him  yet !  " 

Soon  we  were  deeply  engrossed  in  conversa- 
tion. It  appeared  that  he  had  spent  all  the  time 
in  the  military  prison,  and  had  just  been  brought 
here. 

"  This  is  the  last  day,"  he  knocked. 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure,"  I  answered. 

We  hastened  to  share  all  our  thoughts  and 
feelings,  all  that  we  had  lived  through  in  the 
years  of  our  friendship,  unbroken  by  prison  and 
exile. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  die,"  Nicholai  knocked, 
and  the  feelings  which  had  been  hidden  deep  in 

161 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

his  heart  were  at  this  hour  of  death  freely  ex 
pressed  in  words. 

I  could  no  longer  stand  near  the  wall.  In 
utter  exhaustion  I  fell  on  my  cot.  Hour  passed 
after  hour.  Night  came.  There  was  an  un- 
usual noise  in  the  corridor.  I  held  my  breath, 
and  pressed  my  hands  close  to  my  heart.  I 
heard  the  door  of  the  adjoining  cell  open 
"  They  are  taking  Kolia,"  I  thought.  I  listened 
Some  one  approached  my  door. 

"  Farewell,  my  beloved !  Farewell,  my  dear  2 
Be  happy ! " 

"  Kolia !  Kolia !  "  I  cried,  but  the  thick  walla 
drowned  my  feeble  voice.  I  crouched  in  a  cor- 
ner and  listened.  The  noise  of  footsteps  grew 
fainter  and  fainter  and  died  away.  The  strokes 
of  a  hammer  were  heard.  "  They  are  finishing 
the  gibbet,"  passed  in  mind.  I  leaned  against 
the  wall  through  which  Kolia  had  talked;  he 
was  there  no  more.  My  heart  was  painfully 
compressed,  and  in  the  stillness  of  the  night  I 
could  hear  his  dying  sigh. 

Some  one  stealthily  opened  my  door  and 
entered  the  cell.  "At  last!"  I  thought,  and, 
straightening  up,  turned  to  face  my  execution- 
ers. It  was  beginning  to  dawn,  and  the  little 
lamp  which  lighted  my  cell  had  grown  faint  in 

162 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

the  light  of  breaking  day.  The  governor  ap- 
proached and  looked  in  my  face  without  utter- 
ing a  Y/ord.  There  was  something  evil  in  his 
look.  I  understood  that  he  had  come  from  the 
execution.  He  stood  for  about  five  minutes  and 
went  away. 

I  lay  on  my  cot  with  my  eyes  open.  A  snow- 
storm was  raging  outside  and  knocking  at  the 
window-bars.  The  prison  clock  struck  ten. 
The  door  of  my  cell  was  thrown  wide  open,  and 
a  high  official  entered. 

"  I  have  brought  you  imperial  clemency. 
Your  life  has  been  granted  to  you,"  he  said  and 
went  out. 

Slowly  the  hours  passed.  I  lay  motionless 
on  my  cot,  trying  to  grasp  the  enormous  signifi- 
cance of  the  fact.  But  a  sudden  void  had 
formed  within  me,  and  there  was  nothing  but 
emptiness  in  my  soul.  The  thread  of  my  inner 
life  had  broken,  and  I  now  vainly  tried  to  gather 
the  lost  ends. 


165 


VII 


MY  new  life  so  graciously  granted  to  me  by 
the  czar  soon  began.  I  was  summoned 
to  the  office,  and  the  governor  asked  me  to  sign 
a  paper  which  stated  that  my  death  sentence 
had  been  commuted  to  penal  servitude  for  life. 
Then  he  announced  to  me  that  I  should  be  put 
in  fetters.  The  solemn  face  with  which  he  made 
this  announcement  appeared  ridiculous  to  me. 
What  meaning  could  fetters  have  to  me  now? 

The  doctor,  for  form's  sake,  examined  me  and 
said  that  I  was  "  well  fit."  ^^early  all  the  hand- 
cuffs and  leg-fetters  there  could  be  found  in  the 
enormous  prison  were  brought  into  the  office 
and  tried  on  me,  but  all  proved  too  large  and 
fell  off.  They  were  made  for  men,  and  feminine 
wrists  and  ankles  did  not  measure  up  to  their 
standard.  Finally  the  governor  found  a  way 
out  of  this  exasperating  difficulty.  A  black- 
smith was  called,  my  wrists  and  ankles  were 
measured,  and  on  the  following  morning  new 

166 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

fetters  were  ready.  Whether  by  mistake  or  in- 
tentionally, I  don't  know,  but  they  were  made 
so  tight  that  on  the  second  day  my  hands  began 
to  swell.  This  caused  me  excruciating  pain.  I 
tried  my  best  to  conceal  this  circumstance  from 
the  governor,  as  I  was  sure  that  the  fetters  had 
been  put  on  me  at  his  personal  wish,  and  my 
suffering  would  only  gladden  him. 

On  January  27th  I  was  taken  to  the  raili'oad 
station  and  put  on  a  train  for  Moscow.  On  the 
road  the  soldiers  of  the  convoy  —  there  were 
four  of  them  —  risking  their  own  liberty,  took 
off  my  handcuffs.  In  the  same  car,  in  a  sepa- 
rate compartment,  sat  the  officer  in  charge:  he 
could  come  in  any  minute  and  see  that  my  hand- 
cuffs were  off.  I  asked  the  soldiers  to  put  them 
back  on  me,  but  they  would  not  hear  of  it.  And 
only  a  short  distance  from  Moscow  they  hand- 
cuffed me  again. 

When  I  was  brought  into  the  oflSce  of  the  Mos- 
cow forwarding  prison,  Butirki,  the  governor 
was  greatly  surprised  to  see  me  in  fetters.  He 
exchanged  significant  glances  with  the  secre- 
tary, and  whispered  something  to  him.  He  or- 
dered to  place  me  in  a  solitaiy  cell.  Three  days 
later  the  fetters  were  taken  off,  after  seventeen 
days  of  pain  and  humiliation. 

167 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Soon  after  my  arrival  there  were  brought  to 
Biitirki  five  other  young  women  revolutionists: 
Aleksandra  Izmailovitch,  the  daughter  of  a  gen- 
eral who  had  not  yet  returned  from  the  battle- 
fields of  Manchuria.  She  had  attempted  the 
life  of  the  Minsk  chief  of  police  during  the  Jew- 
ish pogrom  in  that  city.  For  this  she  was  sen- 
tenced to  death,  which  was  commuted  to  a  life 
term  at  hard  labor.  ^  Anastasia  Bitzenko,  a 
school  teacher,  who  shot  General  Sakharov  at 
Saratov,  one  of  the  five  generals  personally  sent 
by  the  czar  to  suppress  the  peasant  revolt.  She 
was  sentenced  to  death,  which  was  commuted  to 
a  life  term  at  hard  labor.^  Lydia  Yezerskaya, 
the  wife  of  the  Mayor  of  the  city  of  Mohilev, 
who  attempted  the  life  of  the  Mohilev  Governor 
Klingenberg  for  his  active  part  in  the  Jewish 
pogrom  in  that  city.  She  w^as  sentenced  to 
thirteen  years  at  hard  labor.  Revecca  Fialka, 
a  dressmaker,  who  was  arrested  at  Odessa  in 
charge  of  a  bomb  factory  and  sentenced  to  ten 

1  Her  sister  Yekaterina  shot  at  Admiral  Tchukhnin  at 
Sebastopol  after  his  summary  execution  of  soldiers  and 
sailors  of  the  Black  Sea  fleet  and  slightly  wounded  him. 
She  was  shot  without  trial  immediately  after  the  attempt, 
In  the  yard  of  Tchukhnin's  residence,  and  the  admiral  per- 
sonally gave  the  command  to  fire. 

2  She  said  at  her  trial :  "  General  Sakharov  suppressed 
the  peasants  and  I  suppressed  him." 

168 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  KUSSIAN  EXILE 

years  at  hard  labor.  And  lastly  Marie  Spiri- 
donova,  a  school  teacher,  who  shot  Governor 
Luzhenovski  of  Tambov  when  he  was  returning 
with  his  Cossacks  from  a  punitive  expedition  to 
the  villages.  She  was  sentenced  to  death,  which 
was  commuted  to  a  life-term  at  hard  labor. 

The  forwarding  prison  was  terribly  congested. 
In  cells  which  were  built  for  twenty-five  were 
seventy-five  and  even  a  hundred  people.  Every 
day  200  or  300  politicals  were  sent  away  to 
different  parts  of  Siberia,  but  as  many,  if  not 
more,  were  daily  brought  to  Butirki.  It  seemed 
as  if  all  Russia  were  being  exiled.  But  notwith- 
standing that  the  revolution  was  crushed,  the 
prisoners  so  deeply  believed  in  the  speedy  lib- 
eration of  Russia  that  they  went  to  hard  labor 
and  exile  with  a  light  heart. 

"  You  may  laugh  at  your  life  sentence,"  com- 
rades shouted  to  us  through  the  window  bars. 
"  You  will  not  have  stayed  there  long  when  a 
free  nation  will  carry  you  in  their  arms  back 
to  free  Russia." 

In  the  middle  of  June,  at  night,  the  governor 
of  the  prison  came  into  my  cell  and  told  me  to 
get  ready  for  the  journey.  A  few  minutes  later 
I  learned,  through  the  window,  that  all  the  six 
of   us   women   hard-labor  convicts  were  to  be 

169 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

transported  somewhere.  About  twelve  o'clock 
we  were  led  to  the  office  and  told  that  we  should 
be  sent  to  Akattii.  There,  in  this  office,  I  first 
met  Marie  Spiridonova.  She  looked  so  young 
and  frail, —  she  was  only  twenty  —  and  her 
beautiful  face  was  so  pale  that  I  thought  she 
would  not  live  long.  She  tried  to  smile  to 
us,  but  her  eyes  remained  sad. 

All  the  six  of  us  were  conveyed  to  the  railroad 
station  in  a  closed  carriage,  and  put  in  a  sepa- 
rate car  attached  to  the  Siberian  express.  Ac- 
companied by  twelve  soldiers  and  an  officer,  we 
left  Moscow  for  the  distant  prison  of  Akattii. 

n 

When  we  were  sent  to  Siberia  the  revolution- 
ary movement  there  had  not  yet  been  crushed 
by  the  government.  The  Krasnoyarsk  "  repub- 
lic," which  had  lasted  about  forty  days,  was  still 
fresh  in  the  memory  of  the  people.  The  revolu- 
tionary committees  in  the  various  cities  we  had 
to  pass  learned  in  some  way  about  our  coming 
and  organized  demonstrations  in  our  honor.  A 
particularly  striking  demonstration  occurred  at 
Omsk.  The  Omsk  workingmen  knew  from  their 
railroad  comrades  the  day  and  hour  of  our  ar- 
rival there,  and  impatiently  waited  for  us  at  the 

170 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

station.  When  this  reached  the  ears  of  the  local 
authorities  they  met  our  train  at  some  distance 
from  the  city,  uncoupled  our  car,  and  put  it  on 
a  side  track,  evidently  hoping  to  take  us  through 
Omsk  at  night.  But  some  one  on  the  train  di- 
vulged their  trick  to  the  people  at  the  station. 
A  number  of  workingmen  seized  a  locomotive 
and  started  out  to  look  for  us,  followed  by  a 
crowd  of  several  thousand  people  on  foot. 

Our  car  was  sidetracked  about  five  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  at  noon  the  workingmen  lo- 
cated us.  When  the  oflQcer  in  charge  of  our 
convoy  saw  the  crowd  approaching  he  showed 
us  a  paper  he  received  at  our  departure  from 
Moscow.  It  instructed  him  to  shoot  us  at  the 
least  attempt  to  escape  or  to  be  released  by  a 
mob.  The  soldiers  were  in  a  state  of  terror. 
They  had  become  our  friends  during  the  long 
journey  from  Moscow,  and  did  not  feel  capable 
of  executing  such  an  order. 

"We  will  rather  die  ourselves  than  shoot 
you,"  they  said  to  us. 

The  workingmen  seized  our  car,  fastened  it  to 
their  locomotive,  and  brought  us  to  Omsk. 
Thousands  of  people  met  our  approach  with 
shouts  of  delight.  Rich  women  took  off  their 
jewelry    and    threw    it    in    our    windows.     All 

171 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

loudly  demanded  our  appearance  on  the  plat- 
form. For  a  moment  the  situation  was  rather 
critical.  The  people  were  getting  more  and 
more  insistent,  and  threatened  to  take  us  out  by 
force.  In  the  meantime  Cossacks  and  soldiers 
were  surrounding  the  crowd.  The  inevitable 
tragedy  with  all  its  dreadful  consequences  rose 
before  us.  We  began  to  implore  the  ofiflcer  to 
let  us  out  on  the  platform  for  just  a  second,  that 
we  might  induce  the  crowd  to  disperse.  Fortu- 
nately the  officer,  seeing  that  the  affair  was  as- 
suming a  very  serious  aspect,  permitted  us  to 
go  out  and  address  the  crowd.  As  soon  as  we 
appeared  on  the  platform  all  became  quiet.  We 
asked  the  people  not  to  attempt  our  release  as 
we  did  not  wish  to  witness  any  bloodshed;  we 
told  them  we  did  not  believe  we  should  stay  long 
at  hard  labor,  and  they  finally  consented  to  let 
us  proceed  on  our  way. 

For  many  miles  the  crowd  followed  after  our 
train,  waving  red  flags  and  singing  revolution- 
ary songs.  Peasants  left  their  work  in  the  field 
and  ran  to  see  the  unusual  sight.  They  threw 
flowers  at  us,  and  soon  our  car  was  covered  with 
them. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  the  last 
shouts  of  farewell  died  away  in  the  distance. 

172 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Similar  demonstrations  were  repeated  at  Kras- 
noyarsk, Irkutsk,  and  other  places. 

At  last  we  reached  Stretinsk.  From  there  we 
had  to  proceed  by  etape.  It  took  us  nine  days 
to  cover  the  distance  of  130  miles,  and  in  the 
middle  of  July,  1906,  we  reached  our  destination. 

in 

The  Akattii  prison  is  located  in  the  little  vil- 
lage of  AkatM,  in  the  Trans-Baikal,  near  the 
Mongolian  border.  It  is  famous  in  the  history 
of  the  revolutionary  movement  in  Russia.  Yet 
the  Decembrists  ^  were  confined  in  it.  Chained 
to  wheelbarrows  they  worked  in  the  mines 
guarded  by  soldiers  with  fixed  bayonets.  One 
of  them,  Lunin,  died  there  a  hard-labor  convict, 
and  his  lonely  grave  is  the  only  evidence  of  gen- 
erations of  political  prisoners  who  were  slowly 
tortured  there  to  death  by  the  Russian  czars. 
The  Polish  insurgents  of  1863  were  sent  there. 
The  prison  had  been  abandoned,  but  again  re- 
built in  1889  and  has  since  held  within  its 
dreary  walls  a  great  number  of  political  of- 
fenders. 

When  we  were  brought  to  Akatui  the  regime 

3  So  called  after  the  militai-y  insurrection  of  December 
1825. 

a73 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

there  was  not  very  strict.  The  wave  of  reaction 
which  swept  Eussia  soon  after  the  October  mani- 
festo had  not  yet  reached  this  God-forsaken 
place,  and  the  local  administration  still  believed 
that  a  new  political  era  had  dawned  in  Russia. 
We  were  treated  fairly  well :  we  were  permitted 
to  wear  our  own  clothing,  to  receive  books,  and 
enjoyed  similar  little  privileges.  When  out  for 
the  daily  walk  we  freely  conversed  with  other 
prisoners,  and  argued  about  affairs  in  far-away 
Russia.  But  month  passed  after  month,  and 
news  from  there  reached  us  less  and  less  fre- 
quently, and  what  did  reach  us  was  far  from 
hopeful.  The  country  was  being  crushed  by  the 
triumphant  reaction,  and  the  chains  of  autoc- 
racy were  becoming  heavier  and  heavier.  Our 
prison  regime  grew  worse  and  worse,  until,  by 
the  end  of  1906,  we  were  deprived  of  all  the 
privileges  and  treated  like  ordinary  hard-labor 
convicts. 

Our  position  in  this  living  grave  was  intol- 
erable. We  were  young,  and  the  fire  of  struggle 
was  still  burning  in  our  breasts.  We  no  longer 
hoped  for  the  speedy  liberation  of  Russia,  and 
could  not  reconcile  ourselves  to  a  life  of  idleness 
and  degradation.  And  we  began  to  cast  about 
for  a  way  to  escape.     A  group  of  comrades  com- 

174 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

menced  to  dig  a  tunnel.  The  digging  had  con- 
tinued for  over  a  month  and  the  outer  wall  had 
already  been  reached  when  the  authorities  dis- 
covered it.  Within  several  months  five  tunnels 
were  begun,  and  each  time  it  was  discovered 
when  near  completion.  In  the  end  we  had  to 
give  up  the  thought  of  gaining  freedom  in  this 
way.  Seeing  that  escape  in  a  body  was  impossi- 
ble, the  group  of  Socialist-Revolutionists  headed 
by  Grigori  Gershuni^  decided  to  find  a  way  to 
escape  singly.  Gershuni,  as  the  more  useful 
and  capable  member  of  our  party,  was  chosen 
to  go  first. 

For  many  years  it  was  the  custom  among  the 
prisoners  at  Akattii  to  make  sauerkraut  for  the 
TNdnter.  The  cabbage  was  brought  into  the 
prison,  the  convicts  cleaned  and  cut  it,  after 
which  it  was  put  in  a  barrel  and  taken  to  the 
cellar,  outside  the  prison  gate.  It  occurred  to 
Gershuni  to  escape  in  this  barrel,  and  we  set 
about  executing  the  plan.  We  punched  two 
little   holes  in   the  bottom,   and  inserted  long 

4  One  of  the  organizers  of  the  "  Fighting  League."  He 
was  accused  of  having  planned  the  assassination  of  Minister 
Sipyagin,  Governor  Bogdanovitch  of  Uffl,  and  the  attempt 
on  Governor  Obolenslii  of  Kharlvof,  and  sentenced  to  death, 
which  was  commuted  to  penal  servitude  for  life.  He  was 
brought  to  Akattii  from  the  fortress  of  ShlGsselburg,  in  IDOG. 

175 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

pieces  of  thin  rubber  pipe:  these  Gershuni  was 
to  hold  in  his  mouth,  and  they  were  his  only 
source  of  air.  He  sat  down  in  the  barrel,  bend- 
ing almost  double,  as  it  was  not  large  enough 
for  such  a  tall,  stout  man.  On  his  head  we  laid 
a  metallic  plate  to  protect  it  from  the  bayonet 
of  the  sentry  at  the  gate  who  always  thrust  it 
into  the  barrel  to  ascertain  that  no  contraband 
was  being  taken  out  of  the  prison.  We  stretched 
a  cloth  over  him  and  nailed  it  to  the  walls  of 
the  barrel.  On  the  top  we  threw  cabbage,  and 
fastened  the  cover. 

At  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  everything 
was  ready.  The  comrades  who  had  to  cart  the 
barrel  to  the  cellar  announced  to  the  head- 
keeper  that  the  cabbage  was  done,  and  he  gave 
the  order  to  open  the  gate.  Breathless  we  stood 
and  watched  how  the  sentry  stuck  his  bayonet 
into  the  barrel  in  which  our  most  respected  and 
beloved  comrade  lay.  At  last  it  was  without 
the  gate,  and  the  comrades  with  the  help  of  the 
soldiers  loAvered  it  into  the  cellar.  A  tunnel 
leading  into  an  open  field  had  already  been  dug 
from  there,  and  horses  were  waiting  in  the  forest 
near  by. 

To  conceal  his  absence  for  a  day  or  two  and 
thus  give  him  an  opportunity  of  getting  away 

176 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

as  far  as  possible  from  Akatui,  we  made  a 
dummy,  dressed  in  Gershuni's  clothes,  and  put 
it  on  his  cot.  Its  head  was  made  of  Holland 
cheese  specially  imported  from  Chita  and 
painted  by  one  of  our  comrades,  an  artist. 
When  the  keepers  came  in  the  evening  to  count 
the  prisoners  a  comrade  spoke  to  the  dummy, 
and  they  went  away  satisfied  that  Gershuni  was 
in  his  place. 

When  the  keepers  came  into  our  cell  and  we 
saw  their  calm  faces  we  knew  that  everj'thing 
was  well.  Our  joy  was  indescribable.  We  al- 
ready pictured  to  ourselves  the  triumph  of  the 
Party,  and  warmly  discussed  the  question  where 
Gershuni  w^ould  be  by  the  morning  count.  But 
scarcely  an  hour  had  passed  when  we  heard  a 
noise  in  the  yard.  A  number  of  keepers  ran 
excitedly  into  our  cell  and  began  to  look  under 
the  beds.  We  understood  that  some  of  the  pris- 
oners must  have  reported  Gershuni's  absence, 
as  the  authorities  could  not  have  found  it  out 
themselves  before  the  morning  count. 

In  great  trepidation  we  awaited  Gershuni's 
capture.  But  as  the  days  passed  our  fears  were 
set  at  rest.  We  knew  that  if  he  had  not  been 
caught  on  the  first  day  of  his  escape  the  authori- 
ties had  small  chances  of  getting  him.     He  pos- 

177 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

sessed  wit  and  courage,  and  had  money  enough 
to  pay  his  way  to  the  nearest  seaport  and  cross 
to  Japan. 

Gershuni's  escape  led  to  still  further  restric- 
tions. But  as  it  was  impossible  to  maintain  a 
severe  discipline  in  the  overcrowded  prison  —  it 
was  built  for  80,  but  there  were  150  —  the  au- 
thorities transferred  50  prisoners  to  Gorni 
Zerenttii,  about  128  miles  away. 

We  were  the  only  women  in  Akattii.  We 
were  sent  here  because  in  the  whole  Nertchinsk 
mining  district  there  was  not  a  decent  prison  for 
women.  But  in  order  to  subject  us  to  the  full 
rigors  of  the  hard-labor  regime  the  higher  ad- 
ministration decided  to  remove  us  from  Akattii. 
The  government  again  felt  its  power  over  the 
bleeding  country,  and  the  first  on  whom  it 
avenged  itself  were  its  political  captives. 

In  February,  1907,  the  chief  of  hdtorga^ 
Mehtus,  telegraphed  to  the  governor  of  the 
Akattii  prison,  Zubkovski,  that  the  women  po- 
liticals must  be  immediately  transferred  to  the 
Maltzev  prison,  about  130  miles  from  Akattii. 
Marie  Spiridonova,  who  had  not  yet  recovered 
from  the  effects  of  the  tortures  to  which  she  was 
subjected  at  the  time  of  her  arrest,  was  not  well. 

5  Penal  colonies. 

178 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

I,  too,  was  sick,  having  contracted  inflammation 
of  the  lungs.  For  us  to  undertake  a  midwinter 
journey  over  the  frozen  mountains  of  Akatui 
was  to  court  death.  The  stapes  which  were 
built  in  the  thirties  of  last  century  were  in  ruins, 
and  to  spend  a  night  in  them  was  just  like 
sleeping  in  the  street.  We  knew  it  all,  but  it 
was  utterly  useless  to  struggle  against  the  deci- 
sion. There,  within  the  walls  of  the  dreary 
prison,  thousands  of  miles  away  from  Russia, 
they  could  do  with  us  whatever  they  chose.  It 
must  be  noted  here  that  had  the  authorities 
waited  another  month  our  lives  would  not  have 
been  put  to  such  a  risk :  in  March  the  frosts  are 
not  so  severe,  and  there  happens  even  warm 
days. 

When  the  comrades  learned  the  intention  of 
the  administration  to  transfer  us  immediately 
their  indignation  knew  no  bounds.  Even  the 
governor  and  the  prison  doctor  were  unwilling 
to  send  us.  Zubkovski  telegraphed  to  Mehtus 
that  the  two  of  us  were  sick  and  that  the  doctor 
thought  our  lives  would  be  endangered  if  we 
should  have  to  travel  by  6tape  at  this  time  of  the 
year.  Several  days  later,  on  February  12th,  the 
governor  ordered  four  of  us,  Bitzenko,  Izmailo- 
vitch,   Yezerskaya,   and   Fialka,   to   get   ready. 

179 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

With  a  heavy  heart  we  bade  them  good-by.  It 
was  a  sad  parting,  as  we  did  not  expect  to  see 
them  any  more. 

Alone  in  our  deserted  cell  we  lay  thinking  of 
our  friends.  It  was  late  at  night,  but  we  did 
not  sleep.  Spiridonova  felt  very  bad  after  the 
day's  excitement.  Soon  she  began  to  toss  about 
and  talk  in  a  delirium,  and  I  went  over  to  her 
cot.  With  great  difficulty  I  succeeded  in  rous- 
ing her. 

"  Dear,  dear,  look  at  me !  There  is  nobody 
here  but  myself." 

She  sat  up  on  her  cot,  and  embraced  me. 

"Do  not  sleep,  my  dear,  do  not  sleep,"  I 
begged  her,  fearing  that  the  terrible  fit  would 
again  seize  her  if  she  should  fall  asleep. 

In  a  close  embrace,  clinging  to  each  other,  we 
sat  in  silence,  seized  with  the  consciousness  of 
our  utter  loneliness  and  defenselessness.  The 
prison  clock  stiiick  two. 

"  Oh,  how  long  it  is  yet  till  dawn ! "  sighed 
Marie.     Suddenly  she  began  to  listen. 

"  Do  you  hear?  "  she  asked  me. 

"No,  I  don't  hear  anything.  It  is  the  wind 
roaring  in  the  mountains,"  I  tried  to  quiet  her. 

But  soon  footsteps  were  heard  outside,  and 
our  gate  was  opened. 

180 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  Oh,  they  are  coming !  "  I  cried  involuntarily. 

We  heard  the  door  of  our  corridor  open.  We 
covered  ourselves  with  our  blankets,  embraced 
each  other  still  closer,  and  waited.  Heavy  foot- 
steps filled  the  corridor.  They  kept  coming  and 
coming,  and  it  seemed  there  would  be  no  end  to 
them.  Several  people  approached  our  door. 
We  held  our  breath.  The  door  was  violently 
opened,  and  an  officer  with  a  paper  in  his  hand 
stood  near  our  bed. 

"  I  am  the  governor  of  Algatchi  prison,  Boro- 
dulin.  Have  been  sent  here  by  the  chief  of 
kdtorga,  Mehtus,  to  transfer  you  immediately  to 
the  Maltzev  prison.  I  will  do  that  even  if  I 
have  to  take  you  naked  and  to  shoot  down  the 
whole  prison.  At  the  least  resistance  on  your 
part  I  will  employ  force,"  and  he  pointed  in  the 
direction  of  the  corridor  where  armed  soldiers 
stood  in  readiness. 

I  looked  at  his  ferocious  face,  at  his  white 
gloves,  and  a  tremor  passed  through  my  whole 
body.  Marie  closed  her  eyes,  and  I  thought  that 
she  would  again  become  delirious. 

"  Very  well,"  I  said  to  Borodulin.  "  Let  us 
dress  ourselves,  and  when  we  are  dressed  you 
will  be  able  to  do  your  business." 

Borodulin  turned  to  the  wall. 
181 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  Dress  yourself." 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  this  is  absolutely  impos- 
sible. We  cannot  dress  when  you  are  in  our 
room." 

He  thought  for  a  moment,  and  went  out,  clos- 
ing the  door  after  him.  We  dressed  hastily,  and 
opened  the  door.     Borodulin  entered. 

"  Are  you  ready?     I  will  not  wait  any  longer." 

At  this  moment  there  came  a  knock  on  the 
wall.  Our  comrades  had  heard  Borodulin's  loud 
voice,  and  were  uneasy.  The  whole  prison  was 
awake.     The  knock  was  repeated. 

"  Wait !  "  I  knocked  to  them. 

"  Listen,"  Marie  suddenly  turned  to  Boro- 
dulin, "  they  will  not  let  us  go,  and  you  will 
have  to  shoot  down  the  whole  prison.  But  if 
you  will  permit  us  to  explain  to  them  the  situa- 
tion they  will  agree  for  our  sake." 

"  This  is  against  the  law,  and  I  cannot  do  it," 
Borodulin  answered. 

"  Then  call  our  governor,"  I  suggested. 

Zubkovski,  who  was  in  the  yard  at  that  time, 
was  called  in. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  he  asked.  He 
knew  what  a  tragedy  would  inevitably  follow 
Borodulin's  attempt  to  take  us  by  force. 

"  Induce  Borodulin  to  allow  us  an  interview 
182 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

with  Sazonov  and  Karpovitch.*'  They  are  the 
only  people  here  who  can  prevail  upon  the  com- 
rades not  to  raise  a  riot." 

Borodulin  stood  right  there  when  I  spoke  to 
Zubkovski  and  calmly  examined  his  white 
gloves. 

"  Come,"  said  Zubkovski  to  him,  and  they 
went  out.  A  few  minutes  later  Sazonov  and 
Karpovitch  were  led  into  our  cell.  Sazonov 
was  pale  as  a  ghost,  and  could  not  utter  a  word. 
He  seized  Marie's  hands,  and  held  them,  looking 
at  the  soldiers  all  the  time.  Karpovitch  was  all 
in  a  tremble. 

"  You  shall  not  go,  you  shall  not  go,"  he  re- 
peated, grinding  his  teeth  and  shaking  his  pow- 
erful fists.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot,  his  face 
assumed  a  bluish  hue,  and  his  whole  body  trem- 
bled with  excitement.  For  a  moment  I  thought 
that  he  would  attack  Borodulin  who  retreated 
a  few  steps,  seeing  him  in  such  a  terrible 
state. 

"  Leave  them  for  a  minute,"  said  Zubkovski  to 
Borodulin,  and  they  went  into  the  corridor. 

When  we  were  left  alone  Marie  said  to  them : 

0  Karpovitch  shot  Minister  Bogolyepov  in  1897.  He  was 
brought  to  Akatfli  from  the  fortress  of  ShIQsselburg,  in 
1906.  After  completing  his  hard-labor  term  lie  was  exiled  to 
a  little  village  in  the  Trans-Baikal,  and  escaped  from  there. 

183 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OP  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  You  must  let  us  go,  otherwise  we  shall  not 
live  it  through.  We  shall  not  be  able  to  bear 
the  thought  that  you  will  perish  and  that  we 
shall  be  the  cause  of  it.  What  will  be  with  us 
if  the  whole  prison  will  be  shot  down?  " 

They  remained  silent.  Borodulin  and  Zub- 
kovski  entered,  and  Borodulin  announced  to  us 
in  much  milder  tones  that  he  would  take  a 
feldsher'^  along  and  that  we  w^ould  not  stop  in 
the  etapes.  Zubkovski  looked  questioningly  at 
our  comrades. 

"  We  are  ready,"  said  Spiridonova.  Sazonov 
took  Karpovitch  by  the  arm,  and  they  went  to- 
wards the  door.  Before  going  out  they  turned 
back  and  looked  at  us,  evidently  still  unwilling 
to  leave  us  in  the  hands  of  the  heartless  Boro- 
dulin. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock  when  we,  dressed  in 
heavy  sheepskin  coats  and  supported  by  the  sol- 
diers, w^ent  out  into  the  prison  yard.  The  frost 
was  so  severe  that  w^e  could  hardly  catch  our 
breath.  Sleighs  were  standing  at  the  gate,  and 
we  started,  accompanied  by  Borodulin,  a  feld- 
sher,  and  several  soldiers. 

It  was  twelve  miles  to  the  first  etape,  the 
Aleksdndrovski    Zavod.^     Borodulin    stopped   a 

7  A  male  nurse.  s  Alexander  Works. 

184 


MAKI1-:   Sl'IRIDOXON'A 
Assassinated   General   Minn,  the  famous  torturer  of  revolutionists 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

couple  of  times  on  the  road,  came  over  to  our 
sleigh,  and  asked  ironically : 

"  Well,  are  you  not  yet  frozen?  " 

Early  in  the  morning  we  arrived  at  the 
Aleks^ndrovski  prison.  In  the  semi-dark  bar- 
rack where  we  were  led  in  lay  our  friends,  muf- 
fled up  in  their  khalats.  A  look  of  terror  came 
into  their  eyes  when  they  saw  us.  They  were 
sure  that  we  had  been  spared  this  dreadful  jour- 
ney. In  a  few  words  we  related  to  them  the 
events  of  the  previous  night,  and  told  them  that 
Borodulin  had  come  with  us. 

We  passed  the  whole  day  in  this  cold,  un- 
heated  barrack  without  seeing  any  one  of  the 
authorities.  During  the  evening  roll-call  the 
governor  of  the  prison  announced  to  us  that 
Borodulin  had  gone  back  to  Akatui  and  that  he 
had  left  orders  to  send  us  early  in  the  morning 
by  the  regular  6tape.  All  protests  were  of  no 
avail.  At  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  started 
out,  accompanied  by  twelve  soldiers.  The  f61d- 
sher  did  not  go  with  us. 

We  traveled  seven  days,  stopping  for  the  night 
in  the  hideous  holes  called  Sibeiian  6tapes. 
Marie  Spirldonova  was  so  weak  that  she  had  to 
be  carried  to  and  from  the  sleigh.  Although  the 
cracks  in  the  walls  admitted  air  freely  the  at- 

187 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

mospliere  in  them  was  unspeakably  foul,  poi- 
soned by  the  filth  and  the  pardsha  which  had 
evidently  not  been  washed  for  years.  When  we 
at  last  reached  the  Maltzev  prison  we  were  more 
dead  than  alive.  .  .  . 


IV 

The  old  Maltzev  prison  was  built  exclusively 
for  women,  and  had  a  capacity  of  fifty.  But  in 
reality  the  number  of  prisoners  there  was  never 
less  than  100,  and  sometimes  reached  120.  We 
were  the  first  politicals  sent  there. 

The  six  of  us  were  put  in  one  cell.  It  was 
about  fifteen  feet  long  and  ten  feet  wide.  Six 
beds  covered  vnth  coarse,  gray  blankets,  a  long 
table,  and  two  benches  on  the  sides  were  all  its 
contents.  It  had  two  window^s,  from  which  we 
could  see  the  stone  wall. 

The  cold,  the  dampness  in  our  cell,  and  the 
food  which  consisted  of  black  bread,  halandd,^ 
and  tea  without  sugar,  were  not  conducive  to 
good  health,  and  Spiridonova  felt  worse  and 
worse.  There  was  no  hospital  in  the  prison, 
and  we  prevailed  upon  the  governor  to  summon 
the   doctor   from    Gomi   Zerentiii,   about   four 

»  A  kind  of  Boup. 

188 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

miles  away.  He  came,  and  only  looked  at  us 
sorrowfully. 

"  What  can  I  do?  "  he  said.  "  Everything  de- 
pends upon  the  chief  of  kdtorga,  Mehtus.  Send 
for  him,  and  ask  him  to  transfer  the  sick  to 
solitary  cells:  they  are  warmer  and  drier." 

We  immediately  sent  a  petition  to  Mehtus, 
who  lived  in  Gomi  Zerenttii.  A  couple  of  weeks 
later  he  arrived.  He  entered  our  cell  without  a 
greeting,  and  stood  without  looking  at  us.  In 
answer  to  our  request  to  transfer  Spiridonova 
to  a  solitary  cell  he  made  a  curt  and  coarse  re- 
ply, and  went  out.  After  this  we  never  asked 
him  for  anything.^*' 

Time  passed  slowly  in  the  Maltzev  prison. 
Days,  months,  years  stretched  into  one  long  and 
weary  monotony.  At  first  we  were  only  six  po- 
liticals   there,   but   gradually   our   number   in- 

10  Mehtus  was  sent  to  the  Nertchinsk  kfttorga  with  the  spe- 
cial mission  to  "  discipline "  the  political  prisoners.  The 
regime  which  he  established  was  beyond  human  endurance. 
For  the  least  trifle  they  were  beaten,  put  in  chains,  and  kept 
in  the  kartzer  for  weeks.  He  was  the  first  in  recent  years 
to  order  the  flogging  of  politicals.  Both  he  and  Borodulin  were 
later  assassinated  by  the  order  of  the  Party.  Mehtus  was 
shot  at  a  restaurant  at  Chita  by  a  woman  whom  the  crowd 
hid  from  the  police.  Borodulin  was  shot  near  his  house  at 
Algatchl.  After  this  the  regime  in  the  hard-labor  prisons 
changed  somewhat  for  the  better,  and  continued  so  until 
1910. 

189 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

creased  by  new  arrivals  from  all  parts  of  Russia, 
and  soon  we  were  forty.  Their  arrival  was  the 
only  break  in  the  monotony  of  our  existence. 
But  the  news  which  they  brought  and  their  own 
spirits  soon  faded  in  the  atmosphere  of  the 
prison,  and  they,  in  turn,  waited  for  others  to 
come  and  revive  their  dying  hopes. 

The  first  few  years  after  the  revolution  Russia 
yet  remembered  her  sons  and  daughters  who 
were  immured  in  the  prisons  of  remote  Siberia. 
But  the  constant  persecution  and  misfortunes 
at  home  made  them  forget  the  living  coi'pses 
who  were  buried  in  the  frozen  wilderness. 
Communications  and  financial  assistance  came 
less  and  less  frequently,  and  finally  ceased  alto- 
gether. 

Those  who  were  sentenced  for  a  term  of  years 
counted  the  days  and  months.  They  knew  that 
if  only  they  should  be  able  to  serve  out  their 
sentence  they  would  see  a  glimpse  of  freedom  — 
as  much  as  one  can  see  in  Siberian  exile.^^  But 
what  awaited  us,  sent  here  for  life? 

The  belief  in  the  speedy  liberation  of  Russia 
was  being  slowly  crushed  by  the  overwhelming 
grief  which  filled  our  souls.     "  How  many  such 

11  Hard-labor  convicts,  after  completing  tlieir  term,  spend 
the  rest  of  their  life  in  Siberian  exile. 

190 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

years  will  pass,  one  as  dreary  as  the  other?  "  I 
often  asked  myself.  Whether  I  circled  aim- 
lessly our  small  prison  yard  on  our  daily  walk 
or  tossed  about  on  the  hard  bed  in  the  long  sleep- 
less nights,  these  thoughts  tormented  me  un- 
ceasingly. Lying  awake  of  nights  I  often  heard 
the  whispered  convei*sation  of  my  comrades  in 
the  corners  of  the  semi-dark  cell.  They  could 
not  bear  the  oppressive  silence  of  the  prison,  and 
would  begin  to  speak  of  their  past  life,  of  their 
dreams  and  "wdshes.  But  to  me  it  seemed  that 
what  they  were  dreaming  about  would  never 
return,  that  all  was  lost  in  this  abyss  of  misery 
and  degradation. 

Bad  as  our  position  was,  that  of  the  common- 
law  con\T.cts  was  still  worse.  The  Siberian  ad- 
ministration is  to  a  certain  extent  afraid  to  do 
to  the  politicals  what  they  do  to  these  unfortu- 
nate women.  There  was  a  barrack  just  out- 
side the  prison  wall  in  which  women  ex-convicts 
lived.  Half  of  this  barrack  was  occujned  by 
soldiers,  who,  following  the  example  of  their  su- 
periors, perpetrated  most  atrocious  acts  of  vio- 
lence upon  these  defenseless  women.  During 
the  last  year  of  my  stay  there  two  died  almost 
simultaneously  from  the  effects  of  such  mis- 
treatment.    There  were  cases  when  women  were 

191 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

killed  when  they  resisted.  A  young  Tartar 
woman  with  a  two-year-old  child  was  strangled 
on  the  first  night  after  her  release  from  prison. 

I  do  not  know  of  a  single  instance  when  the 
administration  or  the  soldiers  were  punished  for 
these  crimes.  We  reported  these  cases  to  the 
governor,  but  he  never  investigated,  and  I  am 
sure  that  our  reports  never  left  his  office. 
These  horrors  made  our  life  there  a  perpetual 
torment,  and  we  lived  under  their  constant  im- 
pression. 

The  most  trying  time  we  experienced  when  the 
higher  administration  came  to  inspect  our  k4- 
torga.  Their  inspection  did  us  no  good,  and 
only  added  to  our  suffering.  To  show  that  dis- 
cipline was  strictly  enforced  in  his  prison  our 
governor  used  to  put  us  in  chains  —  those  of  us 
who  were  sentenced  for  life  —  and  keep  us  thus 
for  weeks.  The  only  advantage  we  derived 
from  their  occasional  visits  was  that  for  a  few 
days  previous  to  their  arrival  our  food  was 
somewhat  better  than  ordinarily,  as  the  local 
authorities  were  then  afraid  to  appropriate  the 
money  which  the  government  allowed  for  the 
maintenance  of  the  prison.  The  robbing  of 
the  convicts  in  Siberian  prisons  has  become  a 
tradition,   and  is   practised   on   a   large  scale. 

192 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

The  governor  of  the  Maltzev  prison,  Pokrovski, 
sold  not  only  cloth  and  linen  which  the  convicts 
were  supposed  to  wear,  but  even  foodstuffs  and 
firewood.  Large  sums  of  money  were  sent  from 
St.  Petersburg  to  repair  the  building,  but  we 
continued  to  freeze  because  the  governor  pre- 
ferred to  pocket  the  money  than  use  it  for 
repairs. 

There  was  only  one  bright  spot  in  our  dark 
and  cheerless  life,  and  this  was  our  warm  friend- 
ship for  one  another.  This  friendship  fed  our 
sorrowing  hearts,  and  sustained  us  in  the  hours 
of  trial  and  aflliction. 


In  the  summer  of  1910  I  fell  sick.  The  doctor 
from  Gorni  Zerentui  was  summoned,  and  he 
found  that  I  suffered  with  appendicitis.  My 
comrades  began  to  send  petition  after  petition 
to  the  chief  of  katorga,  asking  him  to  do  some- 
thing for  me,  but  received  no  reply.  My  condi- 
tion seemed  hopeless.  I  could  not  eat  the  coarse 
food,  and  a  slow  death  from  stai'vation  threat- 
ened me.  Just  then  the  chief  prison  inspector, 
Semenkovski,  came  from  St.  Petersburg  to  in- 
spect our  prison.  When  he  asked  my  comrades 
if  they  had  any  requests  to  make  they  all  an- 

193 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

swered  that  the  only  thing  they  asked  for  was 
that  I  should  be  transferred  to  a  hospital.  Sev- 
eral days  later  the  governor  announced  to  us 
that  Semenkovski  had  ordered  to  transfer  me  to 
Gorni  Zerentui.  We  could  hardly  believe  it. 
During  the  three  and  one-half  years  of  our  stay 
in  the  Maltzev  prison  there  were  many  cases  of 
sickness,  but  we  never  succeeded  in  having  the 
patients  removed  to  a  hospital. 

Four  soldiers  came  in,  and  laid  me  on  a 
stretcher.  My  comrades  stood  around  me  in  a 
circle,  and  each  one  of  them  tried  to  say  a  few 
words  of  encouragement.  But  their  eyes  and 
faces  were  sad,  and  told  me  something  different. 
They  bade  me  good-by,  hardly  able  to  restrain 
their  tears. 

■  The  gate  opened,  and  the  soldiers  carried  me 
out.  Yet  for  a  long  time  I  could  see  the  group 
of  comrades  who  stood  in  the  prison  yard  and 
waved  their  handkerchiefs  to  me. 

The  soldiers  walked  briskly,  and  soon  we  came 
to  Gorni  Zerentui.  I  was  placed  in  a  narrow, 
half-dark,  solitary  cell  —  this  was  the  hospital. 
I  lay  there  for  several  weeks.  The  prison  doc- 
tor, who  was  drunk  most  of  the  time,  could  not 
help  me.  After  a  great  deal  of  official  corres- 
pondence the  authorities  at  last  summoned  an- 

194 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

other  doctor  from  Algatclii,  and  the  two  decided 
to  perform  an  operation.  For  two  days  they 
cleaned  some  cell  which  was  supjjosed  to  be  the 
operating-room.  Then  the  doctor  went  to  the 
Nertchinsk  Zavod  to  get  the  necessary  instru- 
ments. But  when  everything  was  ready,  and 
they  were  preparing  to  take  me  to  the  operating- 
room,  our  drunken  doctor  refused  to  operate 
upon  me. 

For  two  and  one-half  months  I  was  kept  in 
Gorni  Zerenttii.  I  do  not  know  what  would 
have  become  of  me  if  not  for  Comrade  Sazonov.^^ 
He  prevailed  upon  the  governor  to  get  for  me 
permission  to  summon  a  private  doctor  from 
Chit^  or  Irkutsk.  Money  for  this  purpose  he 
had  received  from  his  parents.  When  this 
request  was  telegraphed  to  the  governor  of 
Chitd  he  ordered  to  transfer  me  to  the  Irkutsk 
prison. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  October,  and  the  cold 
weather  had  already  set  in.  I  was  exhausted 
with  constant  fever  and  hunger.  To  travel  to 
Irkutsk  in  my  condition  seemed  altogether  im- 
possible.    But  I  welcomed  this  decision  of  the 

12  When,  several  weeks  later,  the  new  prison  governor 
Vysotzki  issued  an  order  to  flog  the  political  prisoners  Sazo- 
nov  committed  suicide  by  drinking  poison.  Nine  others 
failed  iu  their  attempt  to  end  their  lives. 

195 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

higher  authorities,  considering  it  the  best  way- 
out  of  my  misery. 

"  Now  the  end  will  come  sooner,"  I  thought 
to  myself.  "  And  it  will  not  be  so  hard  for  my 
comrades  when  I  shall  be  far  away  from  them." 

On  the  22 d  of  October,  early  in  the  morning, 
I  was  carried  out  of  my  cell  and  put  in  a  sleigh. 
Two  soldiers,  a  matron,  and  a  feldsher  accom- 
panied me.  The  farther  I  went  from  the  prison 
the  greater  my  desire  to  live  grew.  I  breathed 
the  clear,  frosty  air  of  the  mountains,  I  enjoyed 
the  sights  of  nature,  and  my  strength  gradually 
returned  to  me.  I  felt  better  every  day.  I 
passed  ten  happy  days,  and  on  the  eleventh  I 
came  to  Irkutsk,  and  the  heavy  gates  of  the 
prison  again  closed  upon  me.  But  without  these 
gates  there  were  neither  the  black  forests  of 
Akatui  nor  the  bare  mountains  of  Maltzev:  I 
heard  the  bustle  of  city  life  outside,  and  the 
possibility  of  escape  from  here  gave  me  new 
hope. 

For  eight  months  I  struggled  with  my  illness. 
The  prison  hospital  was  filthy  and  had  no  facili- 
ties for  an  operation.  The  doctor  could  not  per- 
form it  alone,  and  private  physicians  refused  to 
operate  under  such  unsatisfactory  conditions. 
The    authorities    were    already    contemplating 

196 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

sending  me  back  when  a  happy  idea  occurred  to 
me.  I  wrote  secretly  to  an  Irkutsk  doctor  ask- 
ing him  to  perform  the  operation.  I  told  him 
in  my  letter  that  it  would  be  easier  for  me  to 
die  at  once  than  meet  a  slow  and  lingering  death 
from  starvation.  He  understood  my  position. 
He  came  with  two  of  his  colleagues,  bnnging  in- 
struments and  everything  else  necessary.  I 
went  to  the  operation  firmly  believing  that  I 
would  get  well  and  escape. 


197 


VIII 

NINE  days  after  the  operation  I  found  out, 
quite  accidentally,  that  after  two  days  I 
would  be  sent  back  to  Akatui.  I  was  too  weak 
to  stand  the  journey  which  awaited  me  — 
marching  with  a  batch  of  prisoners  from  one 
town  to  another  until  we  reached  our  destina- 
tion. Consequently,  it  was  necessary  to  make 
up  my  mind  to  escape.  The  thought  "  two  days, 
two  days  "  did  not  leave  me  for  a  moment.  And 
I  resolved  to  make  an  attempt  to  escape.  I 
knew  what  would  follow.  But  could  the  most 
terrible  death  compare  with  being  buried  alive 
in  that  grave  in  which  my  best  years  had  been 
spent,  with  no  hope  of  ever  getting  out  into  the 
light  of  day  ?  I  thought :  "  Has  cruel  fate  re- 
leased me  from  that  dungeon,  only  to  throw  me 
back  into  it?  I  cannot;  I  haven't  the  strength 
to  go  away  from  the  living  sounds  of  the  city." 
I  felt  hatred  toward  the  people  about  me. 
They  made  me  lie.  They  all  thought  that  I  was 
going  back  to  hard  labor.  They  washed  my 
things  and  were  getting  everything  in  readiness 

198 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

for  the  journey.  I  was  watched  closely.  The 
least  misstep  on  my  part,  and  all  would  have 
been  lost.  My  comrades  who  were  at  liberty 
had  planned  to  liberate  me  by  means  of  a  tunnel 
that  had  been  dug  from  outside,  but  the  au- 
thorities discovered  the  plot,  arrested  the  peo- 
ple, and  confiscated  the  money  which  had  been 
kept  for  me.  I  was  placed  in  a  solitary  cell, 
from  which  I  was  let  out  only  for  a  few  minutes 
during  the  day. 

In  my  pillow  I  had  a  man's  outfit  hidden; 
only  shoes  were  missing.  I  decided  to  wear  my 
own.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  escape  by  crawl- 
ing through  under  the  gate.*  The  board  could 
easily  be  removed.  At  first  I  could  not  believe 
myself.  "Is  it  possible,"  I  thought,  "that  in 
this  prison,  where  every  crack  is  so  carefully 
filled,  the  board  under  the  gate  could  be  re- 
moved, thus  leaving  an  opening  large  enough 
for  a  grown  person  to  crawl  through?"  But 
I  convinced  myself  that  it  was  so.  The  gate 
was  located  in  the  middle  of  the  wall,  and  was 
always  gaiarded  by  a  soldier.  Besides,  the  wall 
itself  was  guarded  by  two  more  soldiers. 

I  sent  a  note  to  my  friends  in  town,  asking 

1  A  gate  in  Russia  does  not  reach  to  the  very  ground,  and 
the  narrow  space  left  Is  covered  with  a  board. 

199 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

that  a  carriage  might  be  waiting  for  me  on  Sat- 
urday from  nine  to  ten  in  the  morning,  the  hour 
when  I  was  let  out  for  a  walk  in  the  prison  yard. 
"  But  will  it  be  there?  Have  my  friends  re- 
ceived my  note  which  was  entrusted  to  not  very 
faithful  hands?"  were  questions  that  I  asked 
myself  over  and  over  again.  But  I  was  going 
to  escape;  I  was  determined.  I  knew  that  suc- 
cess depended  upon  my  self-control.  The  prob- 
lem before  me  was  very  simple,  but  the  least 
error  might  prove  fatal.  It  was  necessary  to 
act  with  mathematical  precision.  I  paced  my 
cell  up  and  down,  rehearsing  under  my  breath : 
"  I  have  to  remove  the  board  noiselessly,  and 
crawl  through  without  making  a  sound.  I  have 
to  do  all  this  before  the  guard  has  time  to  turn 
his  face  to  me.  Then  I  have  to  walk  ten  steps 
in  a  straight  line,  and  turn  to  the  right.  I  must 
walk  slowly."  But  deep  down  in  my  heart  there 
was  a  creeping  sensation,  and  a  stealthy  thought, 
"  WiTl  you  do  it?  will  you  have  the  courage  to 
put  your  head  at  the  very  feet  of  the  sentry?" 
lurked  in  my  mind.  And  I  had  a  feeling  as  if 
somebody  were  trying  to  choke  me  .  .  . 

Thus  passing  from  hope  to  despair  I  spent 
Thursday    and   Friday.     The   evening   roll-call 
was  over,  and  I  was  locked  up  for  the  night. 
200 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

Only  at  night  I  was  alone,  in  tlie  daytime  a 
guard  was  always  with  me.  Oh,  how  I  loved  the 
night!  At  night  I  felt  free.  I  did  not  see  the 
dreary  w^alls  or  the  guards.  In  my  dreams  I 
soared  into  space,  I  dwelt  in  the  skies,  I  jjer- 
formed  miracles.  The  walls  of  the  prison  crum- 
bled under  my  touch,  bullets  did  not  strike  me, 
and  I  could  defeat  all  the  czar's  legions.  But 
the  first  glimmer  of  day  scattered  my  dreams, 
and  I,  chained,  was  again  in  the  hands  of  my 
enemies. 

It  was  midnight.  Everything  was  asleep  and 
quiet,  only  the  measured  steps  of  the  sentry  un- 
der my  window  could  be  heard.  Quietly,  with- 
out rising  from  my  cot,  I  ripped  my  pillow  open 
and  took  out  my  masculine  garb.  I  was  afraid 
to  move,  because  the  soldier  peeped  into  my  win- 
dow every  minute.  With  trembling  hands  I  cut 
my  long  tresses.  I  put  a  kerchief  on  my  head, 
and  on  the  top  of  my  masculine  attire  I  donned 
the  prisoner's  gray  coat.  And  thus,  fully 
dressed,  I  lay.  I  could  not  sleep,  and  I  did  not 
want  to  sleep.  There  were  only  a  few  hours  left 
for  me  to  live,  I  thought,  and  I  was  willing  to 
fall  from  the  soldier's  bullet  outside  the  prison 
wall  rather  than  go  back  to  Akattii.  At  six 
o'clock  I  got  up.     The  sun  was  rising  over  my 

201 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OP  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

window,  bright  and  smiling  as  ever,  but  in  my 
heart  there  was  no  response  to  its  smiles,  no 
reflection  of  its  rays  —  only  darkness  and  uncer- 
tainty were  there.  Minutes  and  hours  passed. 
My  heart  was  growing  cold,  and  at  times  almost 
ceased  beating.  When  I  came  out  into  the  yard 
for  my  last  walk  the  regular  strokes  of  a  ham- 
mer reached  my  ear.  Through  crevices  in  the 
wall  I  could  see  two  prisoners  at  work;  they 
were  building  a  staircase  to  the  watchman's 
tower.  They  were  guarded  by  a  soldier.  All 
grew  dark  before  me.  There  was  no  more  hope. 
Another  soldier  at  the  gate! 

The  clock  struck  ten.  I  stood  near  the  wall 
where  the  sounds  came  from,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  with  every  stroke  of  the  hammer  they 
nailed  down  the  cover  of  my  coflSn.  But  a  sud- 
den thought  flashed  through  my  mind.  I  asked 
the  guard  who  watched  me  to  fetch  my  book  in 
the  cell,  and  he  went  on  this  errand.  I  knocked 
on  the  wall.     The  strokes  of  the  hammer  ceased. 

"  Brother,  hello,  brother !  " 

"  What  do  ye  want?  "  asked  a  gruff  voice. 

"  Where  is  the  soldier  that  is  watching  you?  " 

"  He  went  away  for  a  minute.  He  is  n't 
afraid  of  us  —  we  sha'  n't  run  away.  We  have 
got  only  three  days  more  to  serve.'' 

202 


I'lri  icR  KA  ur()\  III  II 

Assassiiiatcil    niiiiislor    Bogolj'epo\',    sontenccd    \o    solitary 

coiirmement  in  SliU'issellinrj?  fortress  in   I'.tOCi. 

sent     to    Akati'ii.    escaped 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

My  heart  fairly  leaped  with  joy.     With  one 
jump  I  was  near  the  gate.     I  threw  down  my 
prisoner's    coat.     I    removed    the    board    from 
Tinder   the  gate   without   making   the   slightest 
sound,  and  crawled  through.     I  rose  from  the 
ground,  and  at  that  moment  the  soldier  on  guard, 
having  come  to  the  end  of  his  beat,  turned  his 
face  to  me.     I  saw  the  carriage  standing  on  the 
corner.     I  knew  that  I  had  to  make  just  ten 
steps.     But  seconds  seemed  eternities  to  me,  and 
the  short  distance  between  me  and  the  carriage 
turned  into  interminable  space.     It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  was  not  moving  at  all,  but  standing 
as  if  chained  to  the  spot  by  the  bewildered  look 
of  the  sentry.     Suddenly  a  shot  rang  out,  and 
the    bullet    whizzed    over    my    head.     But    be- 
fore the  smoke  had  cleared  away  I  was  already 
in  the  carriage.     Bullets  were  falling  about  us 
in  a  shower.     I  shot  aimlessly  into  the  air,  to 
scare  off  our  pursuers.     Soon  we  were  lost  from 
the  view  of  the  pursuing  soldiers  in  a  thorough- 
fare of  Irkutsk.     A  feeling  of  utter  happiness, 
the  happiness  of  freedom,  filled  my  whole  being. 
I  inhaled  the  dusty  air  of  the  street,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  to  be  permeated  with  the  odor  of 
roses  and  violets.     I  saw  no  more  the  prison 
walls,  and  the  narrow  thoroughfare  appeared  to 

205 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

me  a  limitless  expanse.  My  carriage  was  going 
at  a  terrific  speed,  and  carrying  me  farther  and 
farther  away  from  the  prison.  I  was  ready  to 
die  right  then,  being  happy  with  the  thought 
that  I  saw  the  streets  and  the  people  on  them 
not  through  the  gray  walls  of  my  prison,  but 
face  to  face,  a  free  being.  My  head  was  like 
in  a  whirl.  I  saw  as  through  a  mist  the  faces 
of  passers-by,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  they  were 
smiling  to  me  and  celebrating  with  me  my  great 
victory  over  the  walls  of  the  dreary  prison. 

Our  carriage  stopped  in  front  of  a  sumptuous 
residence,  which  was  shaded  by  a  row  of  trees. 
I  jumped  out  and  rang  the  bell.  An  old  lackey 
opened  the  door.  To  my  question,  "  Is  so-and-so 
at  home?  "  he  replied  that  all  had  departed  and 
would  not  be  back  before  evening.  My  carriage 
was  gone,  and  I  knew  that  I  could  not  lose  a 
moment's  time,  because  the  soldiers  who  were 
pursuing  me  would  find  me  there.  I  did  not 
know  the  city,  and  besides  I  could  not  appear 
in  the  streets  in  my  attire  without  arousing  sus- 
picion. "  I  must  enter  this  house,"  I  thought, 
"  otherwise  I  am  lost."  I  looked  at  the  lifeless 
face  of  the  old  lackey  who  stood  before  me  at 
the  door  and  kept  on  repeating  that  nobody  was 
at  home. 

206 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  Listen,"  I  began  in  a  feminine  voice,  "  I 
must  get  in  here,  I  cannot  go  away  from  this 
house  in  this  attire.     And  you  must  help  me." 

I  stepped  into  the  hall,  closed  the  door,  and 
took  his  hands.  "  We  must  hurry,  because  the 
police  and  the  soldiers  may  come  here  at  any 
minute." 

The  old  lackey  stared  at  me  in  utter  bewilder- 
ment and  did  not  say  a  word.  I  thought  that 
he  had  lost  his  power  of  speech  from  fright.  He 
led  me  through  the  rooms,  opened  the  bureaus 
and  closets,  and  burned  my  masculine  garb. 
Suddenly  the  door-bell  rang.  I  understood  that 
the  police  must  have  come  after  me. 

"  Dear,  good  man,"  I  said  to  the  lackey,  "  you 
must  take  me  out  by  the  back  door,  and  not  say 
a  word  about  what  has  taken  place  here,  other- 
wise it  will  be  all  over  with  you."  And  I  ran 
in  the  direction  he  pointed  without  breaking  his 
silence. 

Here  I  was  in  the  street,  walking  with  none 
too  firm  steps  and  trying  to  remember  the  plan 
of  the  city.  After  about  an  hour's  search  I 
found  a  house  the  address  of  which  I  had  with 
me.  I  was  admitted  by  a  man  of  thirty  or 
thirty-five.  I  told  him  my  name.  He  grasped 
my  hands,  squeezed  them  hard,  and  kept  on  re- 

207 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

peating  like  a  madman :  "  Oh,  what  a  miracle ! 
what  a  miracle!  In  the  middle  of  the  day,  be- 
fore the  very  eyes  of  all  the  guards ! "  I  had 
never  seen  this  man,  but  his  voice  was  firm,  and 
I  was  beginning  to  hope  that  he  would  help  me. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock  then,  only  two  hours 
having  passed  from  the  moment  of  my  escape. 

Mr.  N locked  me  in  his  cabinet  and  went  out 

to  see  what  was  going  on  in  the  street.  Only 
then  I  clearly  saw  what  a  problem  I  had  before 
me.  When  I  was  in  prison  my  only  thought 
was,  how  to  get  out  of  it.  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  think  of  the  difficulties  which  would 
confront  me  when  once  out  of  it,  and  at  liberty. 
"How  shall  I  hide,  where  shall  I  go?"  were 
questions  that  demanded  immediate  answer.  I 
knew  that  all  my  comrades  would  be  arrested 
immediately,  and  that  to  accept  their  aid  would 
be  giving  myself  into  the  hands  of  the  gen- 
darmes. 

Mr.  N came  back  and  brought  me  new 

dresses. 

"  i  think,"  he  said,  "  that  it  is  best  for  you  to 
leave  this  house.  The  house  in  which  you  have 
just  been  hiding  is  surrounded  by  the  police, 
and  we  cannot  depend  upon  the  lackey.  He  may 
tell  everything.     I  have  a  very  good  plan,  but 

208 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

the  road  over  which  we  shall  have  to  go  leads 
past  the  prison.  Can  you  make  up  your  mind  to 
pass  there?  " 

"  And  you,"  I  asked, — "  Do  you  know  what 
awaits  you  if  you  should  be  arrested  with 
me?" 

I    knew    that    N sympathized    with    the 

revolution,  but  I  also  knew  that  he  had  never 
taken  an  active  part  in  it,  and  besides  he  had  a 
wife  and  two  children. 

"  Don't  think  of  that,"  he  answered. 

"  All  right,  we  will  go." 

I  dressed  all  in  white,  and  put  on  a  blond 
wig.  The  day  was  fine,  and  the  sun  again 
smiled  to  me.  We  neared  the  prison,  and  I 
could  see  the  hospital,  the  cot  on  which  I  had 
lain  eight  months.  There  was  the  operating 
table.  I  recalled  the  faces  of  the  doctors, 
who  were  the  only  people  dear  to  me,  dear  be- 
cause they  were  from  the  outside  world,  were 
free  men.  Even  the  prison  guards  then  looked 
at  me  with  a  soft  expression  in  their  eyes,  be- 
cause they  were  sure  that  I  would  not  survive 
the  operation.  I  recalled  the  hard  labor-prison 
where  I  had  spent  five  years,  five  terrible  years. 
My  friends  were  still  there,  in  that  living  grave. 
And  I  swore  by  all  that  was  sacred  to  me  that 

209 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

I  would  not  forget  them,  and  would  devote  my 
life  to  them.  The  carriage  passed  the  prison, 
and  in  a  minute  left  it  far  behind.  But  I  could 
not  free  myself  from  the  thought  of  that  prison. 
I  felt  that  all  that  I  had  lived  through  in  those 
six  years  had  tied  me  to  that  place  where  thou- 
sands of  lives  were  chained.  I  was  free,  but  it 
was  only  an  external  freedom,  for  I  never  could 
free  myself  from  the  thought  of  those  people  who 
were  left  within  those  dark  walls. 

We  arrived  at  the  house.  It  stood  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  city  and  was  surrounded  by  a  large 
park.  The  family  that  occupied  it  was  of  very 
noble  descent  and  immensely  rich.  With  the 
revolutionary  movement  they  had  no  connection 
whatever,  but  the  mother  of  the  family  was  a 
highly  intelligent  and  progressive  woman,  and 
always  regarded  with  extreme  disapproval  the 
treatment  which  the  government  accorded  its 
political  prisoners.  My  identity  was  to  be  kept 
secret  from  all  the  members  of  the  family,  ex- 
cept the  lady  of  the  house,  who  alone  knew 
who  I  was.  I  was  to  be  hired  as  a  chambermaid, 
and  thus  allay  all  suspicion  and  avoid  any  possi- 
ble questions.  I  hoped  that  the  role  of  a  chamber- 
maid would  render  it  possible  for  me  to  remain 
in  that  house  for  a  time.     I  put  on  a  servant's 

210 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  EUSSIAN  EXILE 

dress  and  assumed  the  duties  of  my  position. 

The  sun  sank  below  the  horizon,  and  it 
grew  dark.  The  skies  were  wrapped  in  the 
mysterious  covers  of  night.  Stars  began  to 
twinkle  here  and  there.  I  stood  absorbed  in  the 
sight  of  the  approaching  night.  Six  years  I  had 
not  been  under  the  open  sky  in  the  evening.  But 
there  was  no  joy  in  my  heart,  only  fear.  I  was 
afraid  to  move.  Something  unknown  was  in 
the  darkness  of  the  night,  and  it  threatened  me 
on  all  sides.  Suddenly  soft  arms  embraced 
me  and  some  one  began  to  kiss  me.  I  felt  hot 
tears  falling  on  my  hands.  It  was  the  lady  of 
the  house.  This  woman,  a  total  stranger  to 
me,  tried  to  comfort  me  like  my  own  mother,  and 
relieve  the  burning  anguish  of  my  heart. 

At  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  the  whole 
family  and  a  number  of  guests,  most  of  whom 
were  high  government  oflflcials,  went  into  the 
dining-room  and  took  their  seats,  I  brought  the 
soup.  The  son  of  my  hostess,  a  student  at  St. 
Petersburg  University,  who  was  home  on  his  va- 
cation, was  reading  an  evening  newspaper. 
When  I  handed  him  his  plate  he  looked  at  me 
and  exclaimed,  "  Mama !  Mama !  Our  maid  re- 
sembles— "  He  did  not  finish  the  sentence, 
for   he    noticed    that    his    mother    had    turned 

211 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

ghastly  pale.  All  the  guests  began  to  examine 
the  picture  reproduced  in  the  newspaper  and 
compare  it  with  me.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
of  my  identity  as  there  were  several  photographs 
of  me  printed  in  different  positions.  Besides 
my  features  were  described  in  detail,  and  there 
was  even  a  photographic  reproduction  of  my 
hands.  I,  without  showing  the  least  concern, 
continued  to  serve  the  soup,  which  the  hostess 
passed  to  me  with  trembling  hands.  Her  eyes 
looked  at  me  with  maternal  tenderness,  but  she 
was  helpless  to  defend  me.  I  was  recognized. 
Nobody  asked  me  any  questions.  But  a  dead  si- 
lence reigned  in  the  room  during  the  whole  din- 
ner. At  last  the  torture  ended,  and  I,  thor- 
oughly exhausted,  went  to  my  room. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock.  The  guests  had  de- 
parted. I  was  sitting  in  my  room  with  my 
hostess  and  awaiting  the  return  of  her  son,  who 
had  gone  to  town  to  look  for  a  place  for  me  to 
hide.  He  came  and  brought  terrible  news;  the 
neighboring  house  was  surrounded  by  the  police, 
who  had  a  bloodhound  vsath  them.  He  had 
found  a  room,  but  if  we  should  leave  the  house 
right  then  w^e  would  surely  be  stopped  by  the 
police.  It  was  necessary  to  act  quickly,  for  I 
did  not  want  those  good,  innocent  people  to  suf- 

212 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

fer  with  me.  I  decided  to  leave  the  house. 
It  was  one  o'clock  at  night.  I  dressed  myself 
in  black,  and  wanted  to  go  to  a  near-by  wood 
which  was  at  a  distance  of  about  two  miles  from 
Irkutsk.  It  could  be  reached  by  walking  over 
a  field  and  thus  avoiding  the  streets. 

"  But,  mama,"  said  the  student,  "  can  a  man, 
no  matter  what  his  political  opinions  are,  turn 
a  woman  out  into  the  street  at  night?  /  cannot 
do  that!     /  will  go  with  her." 

It  was  futile  to  argue  with  this  man  the 
risk  he  took  in  accompanying  me,  for  he  was 
firm  in  his  determination  to  share  my  fate  with 
me.  We  started  out,  walked  a  great  distance 
over  fields,  and  entered  the  city  from  the  oppo- 
site side.  I  was  so  exhausted  that  I  could  not 
walk  any  more,  and  he  carried  me  in  his  arms 
into  a  house  where  we  were  expected.  Two 
days  I  lay  in  a  serai-conscious  condition.  I  re- 
member only  one  thing:  whenever  I  opened  my 
eyes,  I  saw  the  face  of  a  student.  I  tried  to 
recall  who  he  was,  but  in  vain.  His  face  would 
grow  bigger  and  bigger  and  resolve  itself  into 
many  faces  of  the  prison  doctors  and  guards,  and 
I  would  again  fall  into  a  stupor.  The  people 
at  that  house  did  not  know  who  I  was;  they  only 
knew  that  I  had  to  be  in  hiding.     They  were 

213 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

plain  townspeople,  greedy  for  money ;,  and  know- 
ing that  the  man  who  brought  me  to  their  house 
was  of  a  rich  family,  expected  to  get  a  large  sum 
for  keeping  me. 

On  the  third  day  I  felt  much  better,  and  got 
out  of  bed.  My  hosts  were  still  ignorant  of  my 
identity.  I  was  beginning  to  hope  that  all  had 
quieted  down.  But  at  noon  my  aristocratic 
friend  came  to  see  me.  She  was  greatly  excited. 
She  told  me  that  the  city  was  in  a  state  of  ter- 
ror; that  the  police  had  searched  all  the  houses 
in  some  streets  and  had  arrested  absolutely  in- 
nocent people;  that  the  authorities  had  released 
a  number  of  criminals  who  knew  my  face  — 
some  of  them  had  yet  to  serve  eight  months  of 
their  sentences  —  and  sent  all  over  town  to  look 
for  me;  that  the  government  had  announced  a 
large  reward  for  my  capture,  and  even  the 
prison  administration  offered  1,000  rubles  for 
any  information  that  would  lead  to  my  arrest. 
She  was  not  sure  that  she  was  not  being  shadowed 
by  the  secret  police  and  therefore  thought  that 
the  best  thing  for  her  to  do  was  to  leave  town 
for  some  time.  She  gave  me  money  and  bade  me 
good-by  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

On  the  fourth  day  of  my  stay  with  those  peo- 
ple, I  noticed  that  they  looked  worried.     They 

214 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

began  to  suspect  that  I  was  the  woman  about 
whom  the  newspapers  printed  all  sorts  of  sen- 
sational stories.  Those  miserable  newspapers 
almost  led  to  my  being  discovered  again. 
Without  saying  anything  to  me,  my  landlord,  in 
the  simplicity  of  his  heart,  solved  the  matter  in 
a  very  simple  and  rather  unexpected  way.  He 
invented  a  fictitious  name,  and,  having  entered 
it  in  his  housebook  as  that  of  his  boarder,  went 
to  the  police  station  to  register  me.  By  this 
means  he  hoped  to  avert  all  suspicion  from  him- 
self. I  was  sitting  in  my  room  and  did  not  sus- 
pect anything.  Suddenly  my  landlady  rushed 
in  and  told  me  in  very  excited  tones  what  her 
husband  had  done.  My  first  impulse  was  to 
flee.  But  where?  There  was  no  time  to  delib- 
erate, because  I  did  not  at  all  know  what  sort  of 
man  my  landlord  was,  and  the  landlady  was  in 
such  great  trepidation  that  she  could  not  be  de- 
pended upon.  I  dressed  myself,  and  was  going 
down  the  stairs  when  I  met  the  landlord. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  he  asked  in  a  very 
calm  voice. 

"  Well,  did  you  register  me?  "  I  inquired. 

"  No,  there  was  n't  anybody  in  the  station. 
It  is  a  holiday." 

That  was  great  luck.  I  went  back  into  my 
215 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

room.  But  scarcely  half  an  hour  passed  when 
the  door-bell  rang  and  my  landlady,  pale  as  a 
ghost,  ran  in  to  me,  shouting :  "  Police,  police, 
flee ! ''  I  ran  to  the  kitchen  and  into  the  back 
yard  and  hid  in  the  building  where  firewood 
was  kept.  I  stood  breathless  in  a  corner,  with 
my  revolver  ready  in  my  hand.  A  feeling  of 
shame  and  humiliation  filled  my  heart  in  that 
filthy  place.  A  voice  within  me  whispered: 
"  Ah,  you  wanted  freedom !  You  wanted  to  es- 
caj^e  from  life-imprisonment !  But  have  you  the 
strength  to  do  it?  Why  don't  you  shoot  your- 
self? "  And  my  long-formed  resolution  to  die 
rather  than  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  gendarmes 
came  to  me.  I  nervously  clutched  the  pistol  in 
my  hand  and  opened  the  trigger  guard.  Many 
times  during  my  revolutionary  life  have  I  ex- 
perienced the  proximity  of  death,  and  every 
time,  at  those  moments,  pictures  of  my  whole 
life  flashed  through  my  mind  like  lightning. 
And  what  I  can't  understand  is,  that  those  pic- 
tures always  looked  so  attractive  and  so  cheer- 
ful !  There  was  no  trace  of  sufferings  and  perse- 
cution, no  memory  of  the  terrible  years  of  my  im- 
prisonment. 

The  door  of  the  building  opened  and  my  land- 
lord's aged  mother  entered. 

216 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

^'  The  gorodovoi  ^  is  gone,  thank  the  Lord. 
He  came  to  find  out  what  my  son  wanted  in  the 
police  station  and  we  didn't  tell  him  anything 
about  you." 

It  was  plain  to  me  that  I  could  not  remain 
any  longer  with  these  people.  They  could  be- 
tray my  presence  in  their  house  through  sheer 
stupidity  and  fear.     But  where  was  I  to  go? 

In  an  apartment  at  the  same  house  several 
men  were  playing  cards  at  that  time.  My  land- 
lord, in  the  excitement  caused  by  the  idsit  of  the 
policemen,  told  those  people  that,  to  his  mind, 
the  woman  who  had  escaped  from  prison  was 
hiding  in  his  house.  His  story  excited  the  curi- 
osity of  the  company,  and  they  came  down  to 
have  a  look  at  me.  One  of  them,  a  man  of 
about  forty,  expressed  his  williugness  to  help 
me. 

"  Don't  worry,"  he  said ;  "  I  am  an  honest 
man,  although  I  lead  a  disreputable  life.  No- 
body will  ever  suspect  that  you  are  hiding  in 
my  home.  I  live  with  my  boy,  and  often  bring 
women  to  my  house." 

1  told  this  man  frankly  what  awaited  him  if 
I  was  arrested  in  his  house.  But  he  insisted 
that  there  was  no  danger.     When  it  grew  dark 

2  Policemau. 

217 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

I  went  with  this  man,  who  was  a  total  stranger 
to  me.  We  climbed  up  several  flights  of  filthy, 
slippery,  and  badly  lighted  stairs  and  knocked. 
The  door  was  opened  by  a  boy  of  about  15,  who 
had  a  very  pleasant  face. 

"  Make  yourself  at  home,"  said  my  host. 
"  You  see,  the  rooms  here  have  not  been  cleaned 
these  last  four  months.  There  was  a  woman 
here  last  week,  but  she  only  brought  more 
filth." 

He  slept  with  his  boy  in  one  room,  and  gave 
me  his  bedroom,  in  which  the  whole  furniture 
consisted  of  a  broken  couch.  In  the  morning 
he  told  me  to  be  quiet,  so  that  my  footsteps 
should  not  be  heard  by  the  tenants  of  the  apart- 
ment below.  I  could  stay  there  three  or  four 
days,  and  no  one  would  know  that  there  was  a 
woman  in  the  house.  He  went  away,  having 
locked  the  door  of  my  room  from  the  outside, 
and  I  was  left  alone.  In  the  evening  he  came 
back  drunk,  but  he  talked  sensibly,  and  did  not 
forget  his  rdle.  He  began  to  tell  me  about  him- 
self: 

"  I  am  a  civil  engineer  and  a  good  mechanic, 
and  have  '  golden  hands,'  but  one  must  bow  one's 
head  and  obey  superiors,  and  I  just  can't  do 
that.     It  is  already  a  year  since  I  have  been  out 

218 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

of  a  job.  I  have  sold  everything  there  was  in 
the  house.  The  rent  has  not  been  paid,  and  my 
boy  wears  tatters  and  cannot  go  to  schooL  I 
have  two  more  children  in  the  village,  and  the 
old  woman  who  boards  them  threatens  to  send 
them  back  because  I  have  long  stopped  paying 
their  board-bill." 

While  telling  me  his  story,  he  kept  on  drink- 
ing, now  beer,  now  vodka  from  a  large  glass,  and 
at  about  twelve  o'clock  became  violent,  and  be- 
gan to  hit  the  boy.  He  ordered  him  to  say  some 
nonsensical  words,  and  when  the  boy  hesitated, 
he  beat  him  mercilessly.  I  was  in  agony,  and 
tried  to  shield  the  unfortunate  child  with  my 
own  body.  Suddenly  the  thought  of  the 
drunken  man  turned  on  me. 

"  Do  you  see,"  he  cried  to  his  son,  "  this  woman 
is  a  saint;  she  is  not  like  those  you  have  seen 
here  before.  And  if  you  will  ever  think  of  be- 
traying her,  you  will  answer  me  with  your  own 
head."  And  he  made  the  boy  swear  to  some- 
thing. 

At  two  o'clock  I  succeeded  in  putting  him  to 
sleep.  I  lay  awake  the  whole  night.  On  the 
following  morning  he  apologized  to  me,  and  in 
the  evening  the  same  story  was  repeated.  I 
knew  I  had  to  leave  that  house,  that  I  could  not 

219 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

remain  under  such  conditions;  but  I  knew  of  no 
place  where  I  could  go. 

On  the  third  day  my  host  went  away  and 
locked  me  in  as  usual.  At  twelve  o'clock  I  got 
up  from  the  couch,  intending  to  make  some  tea. 
I  moved  about  the  room  with  great  caution,  as 
I  was  afraid  the  neighbors  might  hear  there  was 
somebody  in  the  locked  apartment.  On  the 
floor  near  the  window,  over  which  a  curtain 
hung,  stood  a  spirit-lamp  and  a  bottle  of  alco- 
hol. While  striking  a  match,  I  overturned  the 
bottle  with  my  elbow,  and  the  alcohol  momen- 
tarily flamed  up.  I  hardly  had  time  to  jump 
aside.  The  curtain  caught  fire,  and  the  red 
flames  could  be  seen  from  the  street.  The  room 
filled  with  smoke,  and  the  door  of  my  room  was 
locked.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  to  me  that  my 
end  was  near;  for  I  thought  that  if  people  came 
before  I  was  burned  to  death,  I  should  be  recog- 
nized, and  in  that  case  I  was  going  to  die  by 
my  own  hand.  But  suddenly  remembering,  I 
began  to  throw  on  the  fire  everything  I  could  get 
in  my  room,  and  by  a  supreme  effort  I  managed 
to  extinguish  the  flames.  My  fear  that  the  peo- 
ple down-stairs  may  have  heard  the  noise  of  my 
struggle  was  great,  and  I  waited  In  extreme 
suspense.     At  last  the  boy  came,  and  I  decided 

220 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

to  send  liim  with  a  message  to  mj  friends.  The 
idea  to  enlist  his  semces  had  long  occurred  to 
me ;  but  it  was  a  terrible  risk  to  intrust  my  life 
into  the  hands  of  a  child.  Besides,  it  was  im- 
perative that  I  should  leave  the  house  without 
his  father  knowing  my  destination,  as  I  felt  I 
could  no  more  rely  upon  the  drunkard.  But 
before  I  had  time  to  despatch  the  boy,  his  father 
came.  He  was  so  drunk  that  he  could  scarcely 
stand  on  his  feet.  He  did  not  even  notice  the 
traces  of  the  fire.  He  went  to  the  window, 
opened  it,  and  began  to  shout  to  the  people  in 
the  street,  accompanying  his  words  with  most 
dreadful  oaths :  "  I  know  who  you  are.  You 
are  spies  —  spies,  all  of  you." 

I  dragged  him  away  from  the  window.  Then 
he  sat  down  close  to  me,  and  I  felt  his  hot  breath 
on  my  cheek.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot.  I  saw 
that  the  man  was  quite  out  of  his  senses.  I  got 
up,  he  seized  my  hands,  and  began  to  kiss  them. 
I  tried  to  free  myself,  and  there  began  a  struggle 
with  a  drunken  man.  I  was  not  afraid.  I  knew 
that  I  had  only  to  free  one  hand  for  a  second, 
and  pick  up  my  revolver,  which  lay  right  near 
under  the  touch.  The  noise  of  the  scuffle  was 
heard  in  the  other  room,  and  the  boy  ran  in. 
His  sudden  appearance  surprised  the  drunkard, 

223 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

who  released  his  hold  upon  me  and  began  to  beat 
the  boy.  It  was  a  horrible  spectacle,  and  all 
my  efforts  to  tear  the  boy  away  from  his  father's 
grasp  were  in  vain.  At  last,  exhausted  by  his 
exertion,  the  drunkard  fell  to  the  floor  and  was 
soon  asleep,  to  the  great  relief  of  myself  and  the 
poor  boy.  I  did  not  sleep  the  whole  night,  and 
at  sunrise  I  awakened  the  boy.  He  looked  at 
me  with  an  expression  of  childish  pride  in  his 
eyes.  He  understood  the  seriousness  of  the  mis- 
sion he  was  to  take  upon  himself.  Before  de- 
parting on  his  errand,  he  looked  at  his  sleeping 
father,  and  with  downcast  eyes  asked  me,  "  Are 
you  not  afraid  to  remain  here  alone?  " 

After  a  few  hours  of  anxious  waiting  I  re- 
ceived word  that  an  oflflcer  would  come  to  fetch 
me.  Soon  a  colonel  of  the  Russian  army  ar- 
rived. I  thought  it  was  one  of  my  friends 
dressed  up  like  an  oflflcer,  but  he  turned  out  to 
be  a  real  colonel,  of  the  local  garrison. 

"  You  see,"  he  tried  to  explain,  noticing  my 
look  of  astonishment,  "  I  do  not  agree  with  your 
ideas,  but  as  a  man  I  highly  value  heroism  in 
people,  particularly  in  women.  I  am  an  army 
officer,  and  I  was  in  the  Japanese  War.  I  saw 
and  took  part  in  most  bloody  battles.  But  we 
are  men  and  soldiers,  and  you! " 

224: 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

I  considered  it  unnecessary  to  argue  with  him 
that  I  did  not  at  all  think  my  act  was  heroic. 

"Your  bold  escape  has  excited  my  warmest 
admiration,"  he  continued,  "  and  I,  as  an  officer, 
appreciate  it,  and  wish  to  help  you  slip  out  of 
this  city.  I  and  my  comrades  found  out  by 
chance  where  you  were,  and  we  will  all  be  awfully 
glad  to  meet  you.  You  know  the  police  are 
searching  for  you  very  energetically  and  bend- 
ing every  effort  to  find  you.  They  even  imported 
the  famous  bloodhound  '  Rex '  from  Kief.  In 
general,  there  are  all  sorts  of  interesting  rumors 
about  you  in  town.  They  say  that  on  the  first 
day  of  your  escape  you  were  hiding  in  the 
governor-general's  house." 

He  spoke  with  great  enthusiasm,  evidently 
forgetting  what  awaited  him  in  case  I  was  found 
in  his  company.  I  went  with  him,  and  after 
several  minutes'  walk  was  at  his  house.  He 
lived  with  his  man-seiTant,  a  soldier  of  his  regi- 
ment, who  managed  all  his  household  affairs. 
A  little  later  three  more  officers  of  his  regiment 
came.  Among  them  I  felt  like  a  prisoner;  their 
epaulets,  sabers,  and  clicking  spurs  reminded 
me  of  the  gendarmes  and  the  prison  officials  in 
whose  power  I  had  been  for  so  many  years. 
They  joked,  laughed,  and  their  manner  was  free 

225 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

and  careless.  But  I  was  grieved  at  the  thought 
that  perhaps  on  the  morrow  these  servants  of 
the  czai'  would  blindly  obey  the  command  of 
some  half-witted  general  and  shoot  down  inno- 
cent people.  It  was  hard  to  reconcile  what  they 
were  doing  in  my  case  with  their  every-day  mis- 
sion. But  they  were  far  from  having  any  prin- 
ciples. To  them  I  was  only  a  young  woman 
who  was  being  persecuted,  and  they  did  not  as- 
sociate the  fact  that  they  were  hiding  me,  a 
political  offender  for  whose  head  a  large  reward 
had  been  offered  by  the  Government,  with  the 
general  conditions  of  life  in  Russia.  At  twelve 
o'clock  at  night  all  went  away,  leaving  the  whole 
house  to  me. 

I  spent  six  uncomfortable  days  in  the  society 
of  these  officers,  stopping  now  with  one,  now 
with  another.  It  was  not  safe  to  remain  longer 
with  them,  because  each  had  a  servant,  a  soldier. 
These  soldiers  apparently  obeyed  their  masters, 
but  in  reality  they  did  as  they  pleased.  Despite 
the  strict  orders  not  to  speak  to  anybody  about 
the  "lady  from  Vienna"  w^ho  was  stopping  at 
their  houses,  despite  their  ever-ready  reply, 
"Yes,  sir,"  they  were  not  to  be  trusted;  the 
temptation  to  share  the  interesting  news  with 
their    fellow-soldiers    was    too    great.     So    the 

226 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

colonel  arranged  with  some  musicians  from  St. 
Petersburg  to  give  me  shelter  for  two  days. 

The  risk  of  hiding  in  Irkutsk  was  becoming 
greater  and  greater.  The  police  and  gendarmes 
kept  up  the  search  untiringly.  The  railway  sta- 
tion was  watched  by  dozens  of  spies.  Accord- 
ing to  rumors,  people  who  knew  my  face  were 
sent  to  the  Manchurian  and  Chinese  borders. 
It  was  necessary  to  leave  the  city,  but  it  was 
impossible  to  find  a  free  exit. 

On  the  second  day  of  my  stay  with  the  musi- 
cians the  colonel  came  to  see  me. 

"  Did  you  hear?  "  said  he.  "  They  say  that 
you  have  already  gone  to  Switzerland." 

He  related  to  me  that  after  I  had  left  his 
house  he  had  paid  a  visit  to  the  colonel  of  gen- 
darmes on  the  pretext  of  some  fictitious  case, 
and  had  started  a  conversation  about  me. 

"  How  do  you  explain  the  fact,"  he  asked  the 
colonel  of  gendarmes,  "  that  Miss  Sukloff  has 
not  been  apprehended?" 

"  For  a  very  simple  reason,"  replied  the  colo- 
nel of  gendarmes.  "  She  is  long  in  Switzerland, 
and  we  expect  to  receive  a  report  about  her  from 
our  agents  abroad." 

Thus  the  time  was  ripe  for  me  to  leave  the 
city.     The  colonel  found  a  room  for  me  with  an 

227 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

old  woman,  to  whom  I  was  introduced  as  a  uni- 
versity student.  At  last,  by  the  tenth  of  Sep- 
tember, everything  was  ready  for  my  departure. 
Money  was  collected,  a  man  was  found  who  un- 
dertook to  accompany  me  to  Manchuria  and 
China,  and  passports  in  the  name  of  a  "  Sister 
of  Mercy  "  were  procured. 

I  was  to  go  on  the  eight  o'clock  train.  I 
dressed  like  a  "Sister  of  Mercy,"  dyed  my  black 
hair  a  golden  brown,  and  from  a  slim  young  girl 
was  converted  into  a  stout,  middle-aged  woman. 
I  arrived  at  the  station  a  few  seconds  before  the 
train  started,  and  went  straight  to  my  car  with- 
out looking  at  the  people.  The  few  seconds 
seemed  eternities  to  me.  At  last  the  signal  to 
start  was  given,  and  the  train  rolled  past  the 
platform,  past  the  gendarmes  and  spies  who 
scanned  the  faces  in  the  car  windows,  and  was 
^oon  in  the  open  field.  With  a  sigh  of  relief  I 
sat  down  at  a  window  and  looked  in  the  direction 
of  the  city,  which  I  would  see  no  more. 


228 


IX 

A  FEW  moments  after  the  train  left  Irkutsk 
I  began  to  feel  sick,  I  lay  helpless  on 
my  cot,  and  melancholy  thoughts  passed  through 
my  mind.  "  O  God !  O  God !  when  will  all 
this  come  to  end? "  I  asked  aloud.  When  I 
heard  my  own  voice  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was 
going  mad.  The  pain  I  felt  was  so  severe  that 
I  bit  my  lips  in  order  not  to  ciy  aloud. 

Suddenly  my  eyes  fell  on  my  traveling  bag.  I 
remembered  that  it  contained  drugs  and  other 
things  which  I,  as  a  "  Sister,"  had  to  carry  with 
me.  With  unsteady  hands  I  opened  the  bag,  and 
found  a  bottle  of  opium.  I  took  several  drops 
and  lay  down  again.  I  must  have  fallen  asleep 
soon  after.  When  I  opened  my  eyes  the  train 
guard  was  standing  near  my  cot. 

"  Miss,"  he  said,  "  there  is  something  the  mat- 
ter with  a  woman  in  the  next  car.  Won't  you 
be  so  kind  and  take  a  look  at  her?" 

Day  was  beginning  to  dawn,  and  sky  and 
earth  were  shrouded  in  a  bluish  mist.  At  first 
I  did  not  know  where  I  was,  but  gradually  my 

229 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  KUSSIAN  EXILE 

thoughts  cleared.  I  felt  my  head,  my  hands,  as 
I  did  not  believe  that  I,  the  being  who  was  to  be 
immured  in  a  remote  Siberian  prison  for  life, 
was  now  actually  riding  in  this  train,  and  abso- 
lutely free. 

Springing  up  from  my  cot,  I  put  my  burning 
forehead  to  the  wet  window-pane.  The  thought 
came  to  me :  I  can  open  the  window !  And  I  re- 
peated aloud :  "  I  can  open  the  window !  "  Re- 
joicing like  a  child,  I  hastily  pulled  up  the  win- 
dow and  thrust  out  my  head.  The  cool  morning 
air  blew  in  my  face. 

The  train  w^as  moving  at  great  speed,  and  the 
very  wheels  seemed  to  grind  out  the  words: 
"  You-are-f ree !    You-are-f  ree !  " 

Peering  into  the  bluish  mist  I  saw  a  wide  field 
covered  with  drops  of  golden  dew.  From  afar 
came  the  singing  of  peasant  women  on  their  way 
to  work  in  the  field.  All  at  once  I  recalled  the 
words  of  the  train  guard.  What  about  the 
woman?  Picking  up  several  drugs,  such  as  pep- 
permint drops  and  bromide,  I  went  into  the 
next  car,  which  was  of  the  third  class. 

The  sight  that  greeted  my  eye  there  made  me 
forget  all  the  wonderful  beauties  of  nature. 
Amid  a  multitude  of  dirty  bundles  of  all  sizes 
and   descriptions,   there   sat   and   lay   Russian 

230 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

peasants,  men  and  women  together.  They  had 
emigrated  from  European  Russia  and  were  go- 
ing to  their  new  homes,  somewhere  near  Vladi- 
vostok. Most  of  them  were  fast  asleep.  In  a 
corner  a  woman  sat.  She  was  swaying  to  and 
fro  and  moaning  in  a  subdued  voice. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  dear?"  I 
asked. 

The  woman  stared  at  me  with  a  far-away  look 
and  said  nothing.  Her  expression  frightened 
me. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  I  repeated. 
But  she  was  silent,  and  only  looked  at  me  with 
dull  eyes.  Then,  upon  observing  her  figure 
closely,  I  understood,  and  everything  grew  cold 
within  me.  Cold  drops  of  perspiration  stood 
out  on  my  forehead.  What  shall  I  do?  I  asked 
myself.  I  went  back  into  my  car  and  examined 
the  time-table.  It  was  still  about  six  hours  to 
the  nearest  town.  There  was  nothing  for  me  to 
do  but  to  take  the  woman  to  my  compartment. 
I  hastened  back  to  her. 

"  Can  you  come  with  me?  "  I  asked  her. 

She  got  up  and  leaned  heavily  on  my  arm. 
Then  we  slowly  moved  into  my  car.  Before  I 
left  the  Irkutsk  prison,  I  had  learned  to  assist 
women  in  child-birth.     The  prison  nurse  lived 

231 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OP  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

far  away  in  the  city  and  as  the  women-prisoners 
in  most  cases  gave  birth  to  their  children  at 
night,  the  child  was  generally  born  before  the 
nurse  could  be  summoned.  Willy-nilly,  we  had 
to  become  practical  midwives.  There  I  was  not 
alone;  there  were  other  women  there  who  knew 
far  more  about  it  than  I  did,  but  here  all  the  re- 
sponsibility for  the  life  of  the  unfortunate 
Tvoman  and  her  unborn  child  rested  on  me. 

The  groans  of  the  woman  made  my  heart 
bleed,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  were  committing  some 
heinous  crime.  I  tried  my  utmost  to  remain 
outwardly  calm,  to  encourage  the  patient.  I 
undressed  her  and,  in  the  absence  of  warm  wa- 
ter, washed  her  with  alcohol  and  put  her  on  the 
cot. 

"Have  you  had  any  children?"  I  asked  her, 
when  the  paroxysm  of  pain  subsided. 

"  Four,"  she  replied.  I  felt  relieved,  as  I  knew 
it  would  then  be  easier  for  her. 

"And  who  attended  you  in  all  those  cases?" 

She  smiled  feebly  and  answered : 

"  Dear  Miss,  it  is  very  simple  with  us  peas- 
ants. We  give  birth  whichever  way  it  pleases 
God." 

In  my  bag  I  found  cotton,  gauze,  obstetric 
scissors  and  thread.     I  knew  theoretically  all 

232 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

that  had  to  be  done  in  such  cases,  but  would  I  be 
able  to  apply  my  knowledge  satisfactorily? 
And  what  if  everything  might  not  go  well? 
These  questions  greatly  worried  me.  I  kissed 
the  woman  and  patted  her,  but  she  shrieked 
more  and  more  frequently.  Suddenly  she  ut- 
tered a  terrible  cry.  If  I  could  only  pray,  I 
thought.  If  I  had  only  believed,  as  in  my  child- 
hood, that  God  would  hear  me,  I  Avould  have 
fallen  on  my  knees  and  implored  Him  to  help 
me  now. 

The  cries  of  the  woman  continued  to  grow 
louder  and  louder,  and  her  voice  did  not  seem 
human.  And  then  something  happened.  I 
don't  know  how  it  came  about.  My  brain  began 
to  think  clearly  only  when  I  heard  the  feeble 
squeak  of  the  infant.  The  mother  quieted  down, 
and  began  to  cross  herself. 

Soon  we  arrived  at  the  station,  and  summoned 
a  cab.  I  held  the  newly-born  baby,  wrapped  in 
my  underclothing.  It  was  suddenly  hard  for 
me  to  part  with  that  child.  An  unfamiliar  feel- 
ing had  awakened  in  my  heart.  Never  before 
had  I  thought  of  a  mother's  feelings.  I  hardly 
slept  the  following  night,  and  whenever  I  dozed 
off,  I  heard  the  cries  of  the  woman  and  the 
whole  picture  of  the  birth  passed  through  my 

233 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

memory.     It  made  me  forget  my  position  for 
awhile. 

On  the  next  clay  at  four  o'clock  we  arrived 
at  the  station  Manchuria,  on  the  Manchurian 
frontier.  I  went  to  the  appointed  place  and  met 
there  my  friend,  a  young  woman.  She  had  come 
earlier  and  was  waiting  for  me.  I  returned  to 
her  the  passport,  which  she  was  to  deliver  to  its 
owner,  and  narrated  all  that  had  happened  to 
me  on  the  road.  She  was  greatly  amused  and 
laughed  heartily. 

We  bade  each  other  good-by,  and  I  went  to  the 
lodging  which  had  been  prepared  for  me.  In 
that  little  town  I  had  to  wait  for  my  comrade 
who  was  to  help  me  cross  the  border  into  Man- 
churia. He  had  to  get  a  passport  and  money. 
I  stopped  at  the  house  of  a  Polish  woman,  who 
knew  nothing  about  me.  My  friends  had  in- 
vented a  very  romantic  story  for  her  benefit,  tell- 
ing her  I  had  run  away  because  I  wanted  to 
many  a  man  of  whom  my  parents  did  not  ap- 
prove. She  sympathized  with  all  such  cases,  be- 
cause she  herself  had  run  away  from  home  and 
secretly  married  her  present  husband.  She  held 
whispered  conversations  with  me,  offering  advice 
as  to  how  best  to  have  the  ceremony  performed 
and  where  to  go  afterwards. 

2U 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  that  your  fiance  will 
come?  "  she  asked  me  on  the  second  day. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  assured  her. 

At  last  my  comrade  came,  and  we  began  to  lay 
our  plans.  It  is  very  difficult  to  get  across  the 
border,  and  our  task  was  not  a  light  one.  When 
a  train  arrives  at  the  frontier  station  the  gen- 
darmes lock  all  the  cars  and  examine  the  pass- 
ports. I  had  reason  to  fear  such  an  examina- 
tion, as  among  the  gendarmes  there  might  be 
disguised  spies  who  knew  me.  Moreover,  the 
passport  procured  by  my  comrade  was  a  forged 
one.  He  had  not  succeeded  in  getting  a  suitable 
document. 

It  was  necessary  to  invent  some  scheme 
whereby  we  could  lessen  the  risk  of  being  recog- 
nized. The  Polish  woman  with  whom  we  were 
stopping  helped  us.  She  went  to  the  railroad 
station  and  reserved  for  us  a  first-class  coup6. 
I  and  my  comrade  dressed  up  as  though  for  a 
wedding.  My  face  was  covered  mth  a  white 
veil  which  reached  far  down  my  back,  and  my 
dress  had  a  long  train.  This  costume  made  me 
look  much  taller  and  slimmer  than  I  really  was. 
Two  splendid  cari'iages  came  to  take  us  to  the 
station.  In  one  I  sat  with  my  comrade,  and  in 
the  other  the  Polish  woman  with  her  husband. 

235 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

At  the  station  the  porters  cleared  the  way  for 
us  with  a  show  of  great  respect,  and  in  a  few 
seconds  we  were  seated  in  our  coupe.  But  the 
main  difficulty  was  yet  to  be  overcome.  There 
remained  about  fifteen  minutes  before  starting. 
We  heard  the  noise  of  closing  doors  and  the 
clinking  of  spurs.  My  heart  began  to  beat  vio- 
lently, and  I  thought:  What  if  I  should  be 
recognized!  My  comrade  would  pay  dearly  for 
his  effort  to  help  me.  He,  too,  had  run  away 
from  his  place  of  exile,  and  for  his  escape  he 
would  have  been  sentenced  to  four  years  of  hard 
labor.  The  fact  that  he  would  have  been  caught 
in  my  company  would  aggravate  his  offense. 
This  man  had  known  me  in  Odessa,  when  I  was 
only  seventeen.  He,  as  is  not  unusual  among 
revolutionists  in  Russia,  sacrificed  a  great  deal 
for  me.  He  gave  up  a  lucrative  position  with 
a  gold-mining  concern  in  Siberia,  which  he  did 
not  expect  to  get  back,  and  left  his  wife  whom 
he  dearly  loved.  She,  too,  had  known  me  in 
Odessa,  and  gladly  consented  to  let  her  hus- 
band accompany  me  on  this  dangerous  jour- 
ney. 

My  comrade  held  in  his  hand  the  necessary 
documents  —  the  passport,  certificates  of  birth, 
and  the  certificate  of  marriage,  all  forged  by 

236 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

himself  a  few  hours  before.  I  stood  with  my 
face  to  the  window  and  my  back  to  the  door. 
There  came  a  knock,  and  the  door  opened.  An 
officer  of  the  frontier  guards  entered,  accom- 
panied by  several  gendarmes.  My  comrade  an- 
swered in  a  calm  voice  all  the  questions  put  to 
him  by  the  officer. 

"  We  are  on  our  honeymoon  trip  to  Japan, 
and  expect  to  be  back  in  three  months,"  I  heard 
him  say. 

The  officer  turned  the  bundle  of  documents  in 
his  hands,  evidently  not  knowing  what  to  exam- 
ine first.  The  time  was  limited.  Casting  a 
hasty  glance  around  Oiur  coupe  they  went  out, 
without  having  examined  a  single  document. 
When  the  door  closed  after  them,  I  looked  grate- 
fully at  my  comrade,  and  he  shook  my  hands 
with  great  feeling.  A  few  minutes  later  the 
train  started. 

After  thirty-six  hours  of  travel  we  arrived  at 
Kharbin.  I  was  not  well  enough  to  continue 
our  journey  without  a  rest.  My  health  was 
growing  worse  and  worse,  as  the  result  of  my 
early  start  after  the  operation.  Having  rested 
two  days  in  that  city,  we  went  to  Dairen,  for- 
merly the  Russian  city  of  Dalny.  I  did  not  have 
sufficient  funds  to  go  on  to  Europe,  and  we 

237 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  EUSSIAN  EXILE 

waited  three  weeks  in  Dairen,  until  we  received 
money  from  Russia. 

In  those  three  weeks  my  health  Improved  re- 
j  markably.  Manchurian  scenery  greatly  im- 
pressed me  with  the  splendor  of  its  wonderful 
colors.  For  days  I  sat  on  the  shore  of  the  Yel- 
low Sea  enjoying  the  sight  of  the  sparkling  wa- 
ters. When  the  air  was  hot  I  bathed  in  the  sea, 
and  every  touch  of  the  mighty  weaves  added  vigor 
to  my  regenerated  body.  In  those  wonderful 
days,  when  the  sun  of  the  Orient  warmed  me 
with  its  soft  rays,  I  thought  there  could  not  be 
a  being  happier  than  myself.  I  was  free,  free 
from  so  many  chains.  And  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  stormy  sea  alone  had  it  in  its  power  to  pen- 
etrate into  the  depths  of  my  soul  and  heal  all  my 
bleeding  wounds.  Only  at  the  sea  I  found  ab- 
solute peace.  Never  before  had  I  felt  so  much 
love.  There  was  no  hatred  in  my  heart :  I  loved 
each  and  all.  The  feeling  of  love  was  stronger 
than  myself.  I  couldn't  understand  what  was 
going  on  within  me.  In  sheer  paroxysms  of  de- 
light I  would  throw  myself  on  the  ground,  w^hich 
w^as  covered  with  soft  grass.  My  body  trembled 
from  the  contact  with  the  soil.  In  those  mo- 
ments I  forgot  everything,  and  through  my 
memory  passed  the  pictures  of  my  native  hills 

238 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

and  fields,  in  the  midst  of  which  I  was  born  and 
raised. 

We  received  the  money  we  were  expecting, 
and  decided  to  go  to  Shanghai,  China,  where  I 
could  get  a  steamer  direct  to  Europe.  At  eleven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  of  a  sunny  day  we  sailed 
from  Dairen  on  a  Japanese  steamer.  Soon  the 
strains  of  a  march  reached  our  ears.  It  was  the 
call  for  lunch.  When  I,  with  my  companion, 
came  to  the  dining-room  all  the  passengers 
already  were  at  the  table.  Directly  opposite  me 
sat  an  old  woman  who  tried  to  explain  some- 
thing in  German  to  a  Chinese  waiter.  I  do  not 
know  until  now  in  what  way  she  resembled  my 
mother,  but  as  soon  as  my  eyes  fell  on  her  gray 
hair  I  had  a  vivid  recollection  of  my  mother.  I 
felt  happy  when,  during  the  meal,  I  could  guess 
her  wishes  and  satisfy  them.  "  My  mother  is 
just  as  old  and  just  as  gray,  perhaps,"  I  thought, 
looking  at  the  old  woman,  and  my  heart  filled 
with  love  for  the  stranger. 

Without  finishing  her  lunch  she  retired  to  her 
cabin,  as  the  steamer  was  beginning  to  rock 
quite  perceptibly  and  she  felt  sick.  In  the  after- 
noon the  sea  became  stormy.  Big  waves  rolled 
so  high  that  our  little  steamer  at  times  disap- 
peared in  the  foam.     It  grew  dark,  and  almost 

241 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

all  the  passengers  went  to  tlieir  cabins.  I  was 
not  sea-sick,  and  seeing  the  sufferings  of  my 
comrade  and  others  I  greatly  pitied  them.  I  re- 
membered the  old  woman,  and  asked  a  Chinese 
steward  to  take  me  to  her.  She  was  in  bed  and 
suffering  intensely.  She  wept  like  a  child  and 
prayed  to  God  to  take  her  to  Heaven.  I  knelt 
near  her  bed  and  held  her  head  in  my  hands.  I 
don't  know  how  long  I  remained  in  that  posture. 
The  voice  of  my  comrade  roused  me  from  my 
stupor. 

"  Where  in  Heaven  are  you,  Marie?  "  he  called 
to  me  in  dissatisfied  tones.  "  Go  to  your  room. 
You  will  fall  ill  yourself.  Don't  forget  your 
own  situation." 

I  obeyed,  but  returned  in  ten  minutes  and  di- 
rected them  to  put  a  cot  for  me  in  the  woman's 
room.  I  stayed  with  her  the  whole  night.  In 
the  morning  the  sea  quieted  down  and  she  felt 
better.  She  looked  at  me  with  a  very  grateful 
expression  in  her  eyes,  and  asked  who  I  was  and 
where  I  was  going.  I  told  her  that  I  was  trav- 
eling with  my  husband  after  our  marriage. 

When  the  steamer  neared  Shanghai,  the 
woman  found  me  and  said : 

"  You  have  been  like  a  daughter  to  me,  and  I 
want  to  be  of  service  to  you.     I  live  in  a  fine, 

242 


THE  LIFE-STOEY  OF  A  EUSSIAN  EXILE 

large  house,  and  would  be  very  glad  to  have  you 
and  your  husband  stop  with  me." 

I  mentioned  something  about  a  hotel. 

"  Why  go  to  a  hotel  ? "  she  interrupted. 
"  That  will  cost  you  a  lot  of  money.  If  you 
don't  want  to  stop  with  me  because  I  will  not 
accept  money  from  you,  you  may  pay  me." 

I  agreed,  disregarding  the  protests  of  my  com- 
rade. I  could  see  nothing  suspicious  in  her  in- 
viting me  to  her  house.  On  the  way  there  we 
found  that  a  German  steamer  would  be  in 
Shanghai  two  weeks  later,  and  we  really  could 
not  spare  much  money  for  hotel  accommoda- 
tions. 

The  room  in  which  we  were  put  up  was  on  the 
same  floor  with  the  woman's  own  apartment. 
Only  a  small  hall-room  separated  us.  To  one 
side  of  the  door  stood  a  bed  and  to  the  other  a 
table.  A  couch,  on  which  my  noble  and  unself- 
ish companion  was  to  spend  the  night,  stood  in 
a  corner.  We  hung  up  our  things  on  the  door, 
and  on  the  table  we  put  my  hand-bag  containing 
my  diary  and  some  money,  my  comrade's  watch 
and  some  other  articles.     The  door  was  locked. 

In  the  morning  when  my  comrade  got  up  he 
found  that  all  our  things  had  disappeared.  The 
door  as  well  as  the  window  remained  locked. 

243 


THE  LIFE-STOKY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

How  was  the  theft  to  be  explained?  There 
could  be  no  doubt  that  our  things  were  stolen 
by  some  one  of  the  household.  I  was  in  great 
fear  lest  my  identity  should  be  discovered  from 
my  diary.  We  knew  that  while  in  Shanghai  we 
were  not  safe,  as  the  Chinese  police  could  deliver 
us  into  the  hands  of  the  Russian  Consul  the 
moment  our  presence  in  Shanghai  was  discov- 
ered. 

I  dressed  immediately  and  summoned  the 
woman  to  my  room.  My  comrade  questioned 
her  about  the  mysterious  theft  in  her  house 

"  You  are  inventing  it !  "  she  fairly  shouted  at 
him.  "  There  could  be  no  such  thing  as  a  theft 
in  my  house.  I  know  who  you  are  and  what 
your  business  is,"  she  shrieked  in  angry  tones. 

My  comrade  grew  pale.  Before  I  could  real- 
ize it,  he  had  grabbed  her  by  the  shoulders  and 
threw  her  out  of  the  room.  She  fell  heavily  on 
the  threshold.  I  placed  myself  between  them 
and  begged  my  comrade  to  calm  himself.  The 
woman  lay  on  the  floor  yelling  and  cursing  him 
in  most  violent  language.  She  threatened  to  go 
to  the  Russian  Consul  and  denounce  him  as  a 
"  white  slaver."  My  comrade  was  a  powerful 
man  and  of  a  very  excitable  temper,  and  I  saw 
that  if  the  woman  did  not  leave  immediately,  he 

244 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

could  choke  her  to  death.     I  dragged  her  away 
from  the  threshold  and  closed  the  door. 

"  I  shall  come  to  you  presently,"  I  tried  to 
quiet  her.  "  For  God's  sake,  don't  go  to  the 
Consul." 

"  Well,  we  got  in  here  mighty  bad,"  remarked 
my  comrade  to  me  when  I  returned  to  our  room. 
"  And  we  must  get  out  of  this  hole  without  los- 
ing a  moment's  time." 

"  What  if  the  woman  should  report  us  to  the 
Consul  and  we  should  be  arrested?  "  I  asked  my- 
self. I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  what  she 
meant  w^hen  she  shouted  to  my  comrade  that  he 
was  a  "  white  slaver."  My  mind  was  busy  with 
the  thought  of  how  to  regain  possession  of  my 
diary  which  was  a  direct  proof  of  my  identity. 
I  decided  to  talk  it  over  with  the  woman  myself. 

Without  saying  anything  to  my  comrade  of 
my  intention  I  went  to  her.  She  evidently  was 
waiting  for  me.  She  led  me  through  many 
rooms,  and  finally  we  came  to  a  luxuriously  fur- 
nished drawing-room.  She  locked  the  door  and 
put  the  key  in  her  pocket. 

"  Well,  dearie,"  she  began  in  a  very  soft  voice, 
"  you  must  remain  with  me.  You  need  n't  go 
where  he  sends  you.  You  will  be  getting  much 
more  money  here." 

245 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

These  dreadful  words  frightened  me. 

"  You  are  greatly  mistaken  in  what  you  think 
of  me,"  I  said.  "  I  am  an  honest  girl,  and  no- 
body sends  me  anywhere." 

"  Don't  deny  it,"  she  insisted.  "  I  can  see 
that  in  your  eyes.  Y^'ou — "  she  began  to  speak 
very  warmly  — "  you  yourself  don't  understand 
your  charms.  You  are  a  real  treasure,  and  I 
will  give  you  all  the  money  you  may  wish.  You 
will  live  here  like  a  queen.  You  see,  all  this  will 
be  yours." 

She  opened  a  wardrobe  and  began  to  pile  on 
the  floor  expensive  dresses  of  different  col- 
ors and  design.  She  looked  at  me  so  queerly 
that  I  began  to  tremble.  I  felt  as  if  she  were 
undressing  me. 

"  Still  better,  if  you  are  an  honest  girl.  I 
watched  you,  and  I  know  that  you  are  honest, 
and  the  better  it  will  be  for  you ;  the  more  money 
you  will  get." 

How  shall  I  escape  from  here?  I  asked  myself. 
Will  I  be  able  to  take  the  key  from  her  by  force, 
or  shall  I  break  the  window  and  jump  from  the 
second  story?  Or  would  it  be  better,  perhaps, 
to  cry  out  so  that  my  comrade  can  hear  me?  I 
hesitated,  not  knowing  what  means  of  escape  to 
choose. 

246 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

At  last  a  liappy  idea  struck  me.  I  took  out 
all  the  money  I  kept  in  my  corsage.  There  must 
have  been  about  four  hundred  rubles.  "  Look 
here,"  I  said,  "  all  this  money  will  be  yours." 

Her  eyes  began  to  sparkle. 

"  I  swear  to  you,"  I  continued,  "  that  before 
you  will  have  a  chance  to  sell  my  body,  I  shall 
kill  myself.  You  are  an  old,  gray-haired 
woman,  and  you  have  lived  a  great  many  years 
in  this  world.  Is  it  possible  that  you  can't  tell 
me  from  those  unfortunate  women  with  whom 
you  have  had  to  deal  ?  Give  me  back  my  papers. 
I  know  that  they  are  of  no  value  to  you,  but  to 
me  they  are  everything.  And  let  me  out  of  your 
house." 

The  woman  stood  silent,  but  her  face  showed 
signs  of  hesitation. 

"  I  can't  report  you  to  the  Consul,"  I  went  on, 
"  because  I  am  a  '  political '  and  have  no  real 
passport.  Consequently  you  do  not  risk  any- 
thing by  letting  me  go." 

"  Give  me  the  money,"  said  the  woman  with- 
out looking  at  me. 

"  Give  me  first  my  papers.  I  don't  trust  you," 
I  ventured. 

She  unlocked  the  door,  and  we  went  into  the 
same  room   where   I   had   found  her.     She  re- 

247 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

turned  to  me  my  bag  with  all  the  papers  in  it 
intact,  and  I  gave  her  all  the  money  I  had  with 
me. 

My  comrade  was  beginning  to  feel  uneasy  at 
my  long  absence.  He  was  pacing  up  and  down 
the  room  when  I  opened  the  door.  I  entered 
and,  without  saying  a  word,  showed  him  my 
diary.  He  felt  greatly  relieved.  We  hastily 
packed  our  things  and  went  to  the  railroad  sta- 
tion. There  we  changed  our  cab  and  drove  to  a 
hotel  in  another  part  of  the  city. 

After  four  weeks  of  anxious  waiting  we  suc- 
ceeded at  last  in  getting  some  more  money  fnom 
Russia,  but  not  sufficient  to  pay  for  second 
cabin  passage,  and  I  had  to  travel  in  the  steer- 
age. 

The  impressions  of  those  four  weeks  in  China 
are  still  fresh  in  my  memory.  I  have  seen  and 
experienced  all  sorts  of  misery  in  my  life,  I  have 
suffered  much  want  and  privation,  but  what  I 
saw  there  was  worse  than  anything  I  could  im- 
agine. It  is  not  enough  to  say  that  the  Chinese 
live  in  poverty.  To  understand  the  awful  con- 
ditions of  their  life,  one  must  see  them  with 
one's  own  eyes.  I  used  to  go  to  the  market  and 
see  what  food  a  Chinese  woman  buys  for  a  fam- 
ily of  five  or  six  for  a  whole  day's  supply.     A 

248 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN   EXILE 

little  rice,  a  few  nuts,  and  a  couple  of  tomatoes, 
that 's  all.     For  all  this  she  spends  three  cents. 

Their  houses  are  not  any  better  than  dog-ken- 
nels in  Russia.  There  are  hundreds  of  families 
who  live  on  floats,  where  they  work  and  sleep, 
and  where  their  children  are  born  and  raised. 
Nowhere  else  have  I  seen  so  many  beggars.  On 
some  streets  they  sit  in  companies  of  a  dozen  and 
more.  Labor  in  China  is  terribly  underpaid. 
For  a  whole  day's  work  a  Chinese  laborer  some- 
times receives  four  cents;  a  jinrikisha-man 
drives  you  the  greatest  distance  for  five  cents; 
and  he  runs  faster  than  a  horse.  The  Chinese 
go  about  almost  naked,  and  the  only  thing  they 
work  for  all  their  lives  is  a  piece  of  bread,  of 
which  they  never  have  enough.  And  yet  the 
load  that  a  Chinaman  can  carry  on  his  back  is 
beyond  description.  The  hotel  in  wliich  I 
stopped  was  located  near  the  port,  and  day  and 
night  I  could  hear  the  lieart-rending  groans, 
called  singing,  with  which  the  "  longshoremen  " 
enliven  their  task.  Prostitution  is  practised 
without  restraint  in  China,  and  women  are 
traded  like  horses. 

I  was  glad  to  leave  that  country.  Having  bid 
good-by  to  my  comrade,  I  sailed  on  a  German 
steamer  bound  for  Genoa.     As  I  spoke  nothing 

249 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN  EXILE 

but  Russian  —  but  understood  a  little  German 
—  all  the  steerage  passengers,  most  of  whom 
were  Germans,  were  greatly  mystified  by  my  si- 
lence. "  Who  is  this  girl  with  the  pale  face  and 
sparkling  eyes  who  looks  all  day  at  the  sea?  " 
they  used  to  ask  the  stewards  and  one  another. 
And  every  one  of  them  stared  insolently  at  me. 
Oh,  how  I  hated  them  for  their  curious  stares! 
But  whenever  they  forgot  about  my  presence,  I 
remained  alone  with  the  sea  and  listened  to  the 
wonderful  music  of  the  waves.  For  days  and 
days  I  sat  looking  on  the  water,  and  only  then 
I  realized  that  I  was  free,  that  my  freedom  was 
a  living  reality,  not  a  dream. 

But  as  soon  as  I  felt  that  I  was  free,  the  old 
wounds  re-opened  in  my  heart.  Memories  of  the 
past,  day  after  day  and  year  after  year,  rose  in 
my  mind  and  whispered  to  me :  "  There  can  be 
no  freedom  for  you  after  all  that  you  have  gone 
through,  after  all  that  you  know.  There  can  be 
no  freedom  for  you  when  all  your  best  and  dear- 
est friends  have  remained  in  the  world  of  shad- 
ows and  stone  walls,  in  the  world  of  torture  and 
humiliation.  There  can  be  no  freedom  for 
you ! " 

A  sudden  change  came  over  everything.  The 
melodious  music  of  the  calm  waves  turned  into  a 

250 


THE  LIFE-STORY  OF  A  RUSSIAN   EXILE 

storm,  it  grew  dark,  and  our  gigantic  steamer 
was  thrown  about  like  a  shell  by  the  storming 
seas. 

"  Go  back,  go  back  there  whence  you  came ! " 
roared  the  sea.  "  Your  life  no  more  belongs  to 
you.  You  have  saved  yourself  not  for  your  own 
sake.  You  must  either  free  them  all,  or  be  with 
them.  .  .  ." 

I  ran  about  the  deck.  My  face  burned. 
Where  am  I  going,  and  why?  I  asked  myself. 

The  sea  and  skies  became  red  like  the  blood 
of  my  martyred  comrades.  The  music  in  my 
heart  ceased,  and  the  thought  of  my  freedom  no 
longer  agitated  me.  The  decision  to  go  back  to 
them  and  continue  that  for  which  they  perished 
was  slowly  forming  in  my  mind.  And  all 
through  the  rest  of  the  journey  it  was  uppermost 
in  my  thoughts.  The  jungles  of  India,  the  Red 
Sea,  the  green  coasts  of  Africa  and  the  bare 
desert  of  Arabia,  the  Suez  Canal,  and  the  beau- 
tiful skies  of  Italy  —  all  those  wonder's  of  na- 
ture did  not  for  a  minute  change  my  resolution, 
did  not  weaken  my  desire  to  go  back  and  throw 
myself  again  into  the  unequal  struggle. 

THE  END 


251 


UNIVERSITY  of  CAUFORJNlA 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 

LIBRARY 


3  1158  00474  1566 


AA    000  943  239    4 


^_,,^  «^  /"  y,  s 


